The Shepherd
by Potions Student
Summary: PoA alternate POV. Snape, a 22-year-old first year, Black and Lupin. Let the games begin. Complete, final edit.
1. Dumbledore's Announcements

_09/24/03 - This story has now been edited mostly for typos, grammar, and clarity. In very few cases I have changed information or added it due to the contents of "Order of the Phoenix". The only cases where I have done so involve things which will most likely also be mentioned in the second book of "The Shepherd", and which would mean that information in the second book would contradict the first. I'm sure there are probably typos, etc. which I have missed even after re-reading each chapter many times, but even if I were to re-edit this story six months from now, I would see things I could change. I have to designate a point where I simply won't go looking for things to change any more. If there's a large, glaring error please e-mail me so I can fix it, but other than that, this is the final edit of this piece._

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: A few notes before I begin. First, I want to thank my beta, Joan, who goes by "HyacinthMacaw" on ffn--read her story! She's a brilliant writer, and a great friend. 

Second, this is an alternate PoV for "Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban", but I've modelled the school uniforms and characters' clothing on the HPPS/SS movie versions. 

Finally, I've tried to insert Eve into the plot where it won't affect canon--if I have, PLEASE LET ME KNOW so I can fix it. Trust me, she won't become best friends with the Trio or end up in the Shrieking Shack or anything like that, so you can calm down now. :-)

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**The Shepherd: Book 1**

by Karen S. a.k.a "Potions Student" 

**Chapter 1: Dumbledore's Announcements**

Professor Severus Snape marched up the stairs leading from the dungeons to the Entrance Hall, trying (and failing) to hide his irritation at being disturbed in his twice-yearly inventory of potion ingredients by a hastily-called staff meeting. With one month to go before the school year began again, he was busy enough already and didn't need interruptions. 

He swept into the staffroom to find that all the other teachers had arrived and that every seat had been taken, leaving him no alternative but to stand. The best he could do was lean against the fireplace, taking his weight off one of his feet for a few minutes at least. The one day that he'd been on his feet all day and there was nowhere to sit, even for a few minutes. Figured. 

Headmaster Dumbledore took a look around the room before clearing his throat and speaking, the whispers dying at his voice. 

Most of you are no doubt wondering why I called this meeting so urgently. We have two important matters to discuss before the school year is to begin and the sooner they are dealt with, the better. 

First, I have engaged Remus Lupin as our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. As you can see from his resume, he has more than the necessary qualifications and I believe he will make a very good teacher, Dumbledore said, passing out Lupin's CV. Snape didn't look at it as he took a copy; his argument with Lupin being on staff was not based on his qualifications. 

Snape was glad to see that he wasn't the only one looking dubious about that decision, though his true feelings would have to be somewhat closer to rage. Remus Lupin, the new Defence teacher? He couldn't help but feel mildly insulted that Dumbledore had once again disregarded his application, or at very least have said a word to him about the appointment considering Snape and Lupin's past history. 

Are you sure that he won't endanger the students' safety, Headmaster? Snape said in a low voice. From a quick glance at the other teachers, he could see, much to his surprise, that Minerva McGonagall was thinking the same thing. Interesting. Usually she was so protective of the Gryffindors. Perhaps she couldn't ignore the fact that on one occasion at least, Lupin's lycanthropy had been a danger to a student? 

Dumbledore looked at Snape with a level stare and Snape knew the Headmaster was not pleased with his insinuation that Lupin couldn't be trusted. 

I am. He has found a few ways to...live with his ailment. The prime of which will necessitate your help, Severus, and as you are concerned with the students' safety, I expect you will help him in any way possible. Dumbledore's tone indicated that discussion on that point was closed. No one had much to say on Lupin's qualifications for the post and so discussion on this matter was closed, Dumbledore swiftly proceeding to the second. 

In this case I must ask for your opinion; I have not yet made a decision on this matter. I thought that all of you should be consulted before a final choice was made. 

The other teachers all glanced at each other in curiosity. It wasn't often that Dumbledore left a decision almost entirely up to the staff. Certainly he asked opinions, but he usually had some plan in mind when he did so. 

A week ago, as we were preparing to send out the letters of admission, the quill which writes the names of prospective students in the enrolment book added a name to the list for this year's entering class. There was another round of glances between the teachers. The quill never added names to a list after the birth year for those students passed. The name was that of a Miss Eve Berger, living in London, and someone I have had an eye on for some time. A few years ago, one of my contacts in Oxbridge wrote to me about an possible magical incident concerning this young woman, in which untrained magical ability and stress could have caused an event like one would usually see in a child of about eight. At this time, however, Miss Berger was eighteen. 

Murmurs rose in the room and Snape knew they were wondering that same thing he was. How could this young woman not have manifested her powers until so late? Why had she never been recorded on the Hogwarts roll? 

Dumbledore raised a hand for silence. That was four years ago, and I have had a few dispatches from my informants about this girl since then, though I have never received news of an incident confirming her possession of powers: any other instances involving her could possibly have been explained by more mundane causes as well. That is, until now. The day after the quill wrote her name in the book, I got a message from a contact in London. Apparently, the day before, Miss Berger had thrown one of her co-workers approximately six feet across a room during a row. However she did this without any of her fellow co-workers seeing her touch the other girl in any way. 

But, Albus...how could this happen? McGonagall asked, speaking for the group. 

I'm not entirely sure. But I think what has happened is that Miss Berger has somehow developed magical potential later in life. As far as I know she has no mage ancestry. My question to you is whether we should admit her to Hogwarts. 

Snape's mind boggled at the idea. Someone developing powers was unheard of, so rare as to be almost impossible. He couldn't remember if he had ever actually heard of a case where it had happened. But he was sensible enough to see the implications of leaving this girl untrained, as much of a nuisance it would be to have her at Hogwarts. 

But, that would make things rather difficult for everyone, wouldn't it? Sprout asked, I mean, the girl is twenty-two now; how can we put her in a class of eleven-year-olds? 

And no doubt she would find the rules too stifling for someone who has been living independently for some time. We can hardly confine her to the castle grounds for the entire year, Flitwick added. 

And can you imagine the attitude she could have? As you said, she's lived on her own for many years. She'll never agree to being directed in everything for seven years. Besides, by this time she's probably become completely ingrained in the Muggle world. We would have to ask her to give up an entire way of life that she knows, McGonagall added. 

Dumbledore looked like he was about to say something but Snape spoke first, annoyed at the others' inability to see sense. But what if she is left untrained? The Headmaster mentioned that she has already managed to toss someone in a fit of anger. If she has that sort of power she could be dangerous to herself and others. 

Dumbledore shot Snape a grateful look. We also have to consider the fact that if we to do not teach her, there are others who would. He did not need to elaborate on that point for the teachers to grasp his meaning. 

McGonagall still didn't appear to be completely convinced, even later, after Dumbledore had dismissed them all to go back to their preparations for the upcoming school year. Snape couldn't blame her; he had a feeling that this student was going to be more of a handful than a class full of Weasley twins and Harry Potters. 


	2. The Letter From Hogwarts

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: Again, thank you to my spectacular beta, Joan, a.k.a "Hyacinth Macaw". 

And before you start groaning, the reaction of a particular kitten to my main character in this chapter is completely true. It happened to a friend of mine, while were were looking for a new cat for her. Needless to say, she adopted that particular kitty without hesitation. :-) 

Oh, and please play "Guess the reference" with the kitty's name. If you're read/seen the story I used as inspiration, it'll be completely obvious anyway. 

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**Chapter Two: The Letter from Hogwarts**

Eve Berger trudged up the steps to her flat, mail tightly clutched in one hand, dragging her rucksack behind her. After a full day at work at the Sherlock Holmes Museum and the crush on the Tube, she was dead on her feet and wanted only to get home and slip into a hot bath. That certainly sounded like a good start to what looked to be a perfect weekend. Beth, her flatmate, had gone home to Bristol for a long weekend and Eve was greatly looking forward to having the place to herself. 

She peered through rain-speckled glasses as she unlocked her door, feeling water dripping down her neck from her chin-length, bobbed, brown hair. Finally managing to turn her key in the lock, she stepped into her flat and dumped her rucksack by the door. It made a heavy thump as it landed; she would really have to sort through it, get rid of anything she didn't need to lug around. Shuffling the mail onto the hall table as she flipped through it, she idly wondered if climbing the stairs to her flat and hefting her rucksack everywhere counted as exercise. A bit overweight, Eve had intentions of going on an exercise and diet programme, but usually found herself too exhausted after running around at the museum all day to even want to think about stepping on a treadmill or exercise bike. She tried to eat well, but the pounds stayed resolutely on. It wasn't like she wanted to become a complete twig; that was hardly realistic, or healthy, and she wasn't really what someone would call anyway. But it would be nice to minimize her curves to the places they should be and not have to search quite so long for clothing that fit properly and didn't make her look like someone's grandmother. 

Bills, bills, postcard from the furniture shop down the street about a sale, letter for Beth from her boyfriend doing a summer term in France... Eve stopped as she reached the bottom letter and stared at it a moment. 

On the thick yellow paper--_Parchment?_ thought Eve--of the envelope, someone with a quirky hand had written the direction in emerald green ink: 

Eve Berger,   
211C Brightling St.   
London 

More odd than the paper or the ink, was that there was no postmark or stamp on the letter. The post was usually dropped through her landlady's letterbox, who would then sort out the mail for the girls upstairs and leave it on the table by the street door. Someone must have dropped it off themselves--but then why write the city, or even the flat number? If someone was going to drop something off for her, they would know her well enough to know that all her landlady needed was a name. 

Turning the envelope over, she could see that there was no return address written on the flap. However, the letter seemed to be closed with an old-fashioned wax seal, and by squinting at it, Eve could make out a crest with a large letter in the centre, the rest divided into four sections, decorated with a lion, snake, badger and eagle. 

Popping the seal, Eve pulled out a letter--also apparently written on parchment, in the same green ink and handwriting--and began to read, wondering what on earth was going on. 

The letter itself only made her still more confused. 

Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...someone's having me on, Eve said aloud. 

I assure you, the offer is quite serious, a voice said from behind. Eve jumped, spinning around to see who on earth it was. 

A tall, thin, older woman stood behind her, dressed in odd, Victorian-looking, dark green robes. The woman's black hair was pulled tightly into a bun and she had a slightly pinched face, one that could probably become soft and motherly or frighteningly stern at a moment's notice. The woman gazed calmly at her from behind gold-rimmed spectacles, hands folded in front of her. 

Who are you, and how did you get in here? Eve said, not sure whether she was angry or afraid, her voice settling for a little of both. 

Professor Minerva McGonagall, the woman replied in a slight Scottish burr, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts. We sent you the letter, as we do for all students, but it was thought that it might help if I came to see you, to explain things. 

The woman's unflappable calm merely puzzled Eve still more, and she could hardly pull together enough self-possession to stutter, E-explain things? while the rest of her brain was shouting that she should be ringing the police. 

Yes, here, why don't we sit down? What I have to say will probably be a bit shocking, so you'd best sit and have a cup of tea. 

McGonagall ushered Eve into the sitting room and withdrew a long, carved stick from her robes, waving it over the side table and saying a few words Eve didn't catch. As Eve watched in amazement, a tea tray with two cups and saucers appeared out of thin air. Eve found herself blinking to try and make sure that she wasn't seeing things as she sank into one of the stuffed armchairs.

McGonagall poured out a cup for each of them, each cup appearing to contain perfectly normal tea, as though it had been freshly brewed rather than apparently conjured into existence. Eve took the cup automatically but had enough wits not to drink out of it. 

Meanwhile, McGonagall had seated herself on the couch, and took a sip of her tea before speaking again. Miss Berger, the reason I have come here is because it has recently come to our attention that you are a witch. 

A witch? Eve said, incapable of doing anything but parroting McGonagall's words as they seemed to take a long time to sink in. Even after Eve convinced herself that she hadn't been hearing things, she couldn't actually believe what McGonagall was saying.

It was quite a surprise to us as well. You see, witches and wizards are usually born with their powers, and their birth is recorded in the Hogwarts books by a magic quill at that moment. Even with children of Muggles--that is, non-magic people--they are registered with us from birth, so that when the child enters their eleventh year they are sent the offer of enrolment, like the one you have there. You, however, were not born with your powers--or at least, we assume not, as you were not recorded in the books. However it has come to attention that you have somehow...developed magical powers, through observers in the Ministry of Magic. 

What do you mean, magical powers? 

Do you remember having a row with one of your housemates at university, during which all the lights within five feet of you shattered? 

Eve blinked in surprise. Of course she remembered it. She had been having a blazing row with a housemate because the other girl had been playing her music loudly well into the early morning the night before an important exam. They had been going at it pretty well when suddenly all of the lights around them had simply exploded in a shower of sparks and glass. That was a power surge, though. 

McGonagall shook her head. That was the explanation the students were given, but the university could find no way that a power surge could have affected only those lights. There was also an instance, recently, where a girl that was tormenting you at work was thrown backwards six feet or so, though witnesses never saw anyone touch her. 

Eve was suprised that this woman knew about the incident--not even the museum director did. How on earth could she know? And was it possible that there was some way to explain it? Are you saying that I somehow caused these things? 

That is precisely what I am saying. Children who have untrained magical power often experience odd things happening, like those that have happened to you, when they are angry, upset or under emotional stress. That is how their magical potential manifests itself. Usually they start showing signs of this around age eight or so. But for you, it didn't start until you were eighteen, and even then it was so gradual that you didn't come to our attention until a couple months ago. The fact that you can make these things happen is precisely why I am here. At Hogwarts we teach the Magical Arts, taking that power and channelling it into specific areas, teaching students to manage and control it. 

Eve was still trying to hang onto reality, which was rapidly sliding from her grip. But...magic? Like...spells and smoking cauldrons and people in pointy hats on broomsticks? 

It's not quite like Muggles usually portray it, but the curriculum does include spells, potions, broom flying lessons and the like, and yes, the hats are sometimes pointed. Magic is very real, Miss Berger, it's just that those of us in the magical community try and make sure none of the Muggles know that it exists. They have not always been very tolerant of our kind and would probably not know how to use our talents for the good of everyone. McGonagall looked at her carefully. I see you are still rather skeptical. Let me give you another little demonstration. 

As Eve watched in astonishment, McGonagall apparently started to shrink. Her eyes changed shape and colour as her hair turned to grey fur. Her hands and feet changed to paws as she shrank, and in less than a minute, there was a grey tabby cat sitting in the chair opposite, with odd markings around its eyes; markings shaped like the glasses that McGonagall wore. In another minute, she had transformed back to the stern-looking woman that now seemed to be fighting to keep a small smile off her face. 

W-would I learn to do that? Eve stammered as her brain ran to catch up with what her eyes had seen. But deep inside, she could feel hope beginning to stir. This was her ordinary London apartment, these things couldn't be faked here in front of her eyes. She was actually starting to believe what McGonagall was saying: that this was real, not some parlour trick. That perhaps she could learn to control the things which happened around her.

Oh, most likely not. There are very few people who are Animagi; there have only been seven this century. It's a very advanced sort of magic. But it is a rather good way of convincing doubters, as well as getting a class' attention. Eve thought she saw a twinkle in McGonagall's eyes, but it may just have been a trick of the light. 

But I can't possibly afford to...I mean, I have student loans from university... 

We anticipated that, and would like to offer you a deal that would allow you to attend. The headmaster has told me that Hogwarts will pay off your existing student loans and allow you to go to Hogwarts on scholarship--provided that sometime after you graduate, you become a teacher for us at a slightly reduced salary for a period of no less than three years. 

Eve was still trying to put everything together in her head, but she was growing more and more convinced. The idea that she could control whatever caused things to happen to her was a welcome one. Each time something odd had happened around her, she had felt extremely uneasy. Her co-workers had looked askance at her and deftly kept out of her way after she'd April Terrence into the wall of the staff room after the other girl had said some particularly nasty things about her. Of course no one had seen her get within three feet of April--that was why they were so wary. People fear what they don't understand, and even Eve herself had been scared by what had happened. But if she could learn to control that... 

I accept your offer, then, she heard herself saying, unsure of what exactly she was getting herself into. 

McGonagall smiled. Good. I'll send the acceptance form by owl tonight then, and I'll take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy your supplies for school, she said, standing. 

Owl? Diagon Alley? 

We use owls as our post carriers. You just address a letter to someone and an owl will deliver it for you. Many people like to have their own owls just for that purpose, though we have school owls at Hogwarts and the magical post office has messenger owls you can use for a fee. Diagon Alley is the London magic shopping district. You won't have heard of it before, and you have to be a witch or wizard to know how to get there--that's why I'll take you. I'll come fetch you here at around noon. It's quite close by, actually. Don't forget the second page of that letter, it has the list of things you'll need. I will see you tomorrow, then. McGonagall shook Eve's hand and then simply disappeared. One minute she was there, the next, she was gone. 

Eve stared at the spot where McGonagall had been standing for a moment, then sank into an armchair. How on earth was she going to tell her flatmate about this? Or, for that matter, her parents?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

McGonagall appeared in Eve's apartment promptly at noon the next day, nearly causing Eve to drop the plate she was washing. When she'd rung her parents the night before, Eve had found out that they had already had a visit from Professor McGonagall to tell them exactly what was going on with their daughter and about Hogwarts. From what they had said on the phone, their reaction had been about the same as Eve's: confusion, disbelief and eventual acceptance. 

Are you ready to go, then? It's not far, McGonagall said briskly, as Eve dried her hands and grabbed her purse. 

They headed down the street, McGonagall often turning onto another street without warning. She certainly seemed to know exactly where she was going. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of walking and fighting London traffic, McGonagall stopped in front of a somewhat shabby-looking pub. A weathered sign over the door proclaimed it as "The Leaky Cauldron", and Eve had to wonder why she had never seen it before. Then again, as she looked at the passers-by, she had to wonder if any of them saw it at all. 

McGonagall pushed the door open and walked straight through the pub, nodding at a few of the people seated at tables or on stools at the bar. They all wore robes somewhat like McGonagall's, though the cut and colour of each one was different, and some looked rather odd indeed. 

Eve didn't have much of a chance to look at the people in the pub, however, before they were outside in a small, walled courtyard behind the pub. McGonagall took out what Eve now recognized as her wand, then tapped a few of the bricks in one wall before standing back, waiting for something. 

As Eve watched in amazement, the brick that McGonagall tapped wriggled slightly then disappeared. The hole it left widened until Eve could see an entire street of shops, thronged with people, where the wall had once been. 

This is Diagon Alley, McGonagall said and stepped through the hole. Eve followed her through, looking around at everyone and everything, simply agog with the sights in front of her eyes. 

Everyone in the street was dressed in robes, in a mishmash of styles and colours. The buildings looked like they had been designed by Charles Dickens on crack. She had to hurry to keep up with McGonagall, who was striding down the narrow, cobblestone street with an attitude that seemed to threaten any one to dare get in her way. But there was so much to look at! She caught snippets of conversation as she passed groups standing in front of the stores: 

Apparently in Paris they're embroidering robes with unicorn hair-- 

The quality of aconite is simply pitiful this year, thanks to that dry spring we had-- 

Yes, it was simply awful, her old wand had been snapped right in two by the impact-- 

What d'you fancy the Cannons' chances are this year? 

Do you know if they've managed to track Sirius Black at all? 

Eve turned to try and hear the other person's response, wondering at why a pair of witches would be discussing Black, a prisoner who had escaped from prison a couple weeks before. The news was full of reports about him, people worried that he might go on another killing spree as the less reputable dailies delighted in terming it. But surely he wouldn't pose a threat to magic folk? All they'd have to do would be to say a few words and he'd be turned into a haddock or something--wouldn't he? 

Here we are, McGonagall said, and Eve snapped back to attention as they neared a large, marble-pillared building that looked less like it was built than simply plopped whole onto a patch of ground in the middle of the block, with the way that the surrounding buildings seemed to lean away from its bulk. Gringotts Wizards' Bank. You'll need to open an account here and get your money changed. 

Eve said, curiously. 

Yes, to wizard currency. You can't use Muggle money in wizarding shops. The goblins will give you a fair exchange on it though. 

_Goblins?_ Eve thought, but decided not to question it. Already she was starting to come to the opinion that if she didn't want to appear completely clueless, she would have to take whatever this new world threw at her and accept it as normal, no matter how odd it seemed. 

The goblins were remarkably efficient, she found, and within minutes she had completed the necessary paperwork and received the key to her vault, as well as had her savings translated into wizard money. She took some of each from the pile of galleons, sickles and knuts that was headed for her vault, then accompanied McGonagall back out into Diagon Alley. 

First, robes. Madam Malkin provides the school robes for Hogwarts. I assume it will take some time for her to fit you and make alterations, so I'll meet you in Flourish and Blotts' just opposite--you can buy your schoolbooks there. You have the list of which ones you need. I'll take you round to the other shops after that. Ah, here we are! McGonagall pulled open the door to one of the shops--one with rich burgundy and green silk robes in the window--and followed Eve in. 

Madam Malkin! This is the student I wrote to you about-- Eve had to wonder what McGonagall had written-- and she will need the usual Hogwarts uniform. I'll be off--see you across the street in a bit, Miss Berger. 

Eve watched McGonagall walk out of the shop with her usual no-nonsense stride, feeling like someone had just snatched a life ring from her hands as she bobbed in the open ocean. 

Well dear, I think I may not have to make too many alterations, some of the robes for older students should fit you. Malkin guided her over to the rear of the shop where there were a few small footstools surrounded by mirrors. Eve stepped up on a footstool and Malkin asked her to hold up her arms. Before she could notice where it had come from, a tape measure was wrapped around her waist and chest, measuring her arms and legs, between her shoulders...and more importantly, doing it all on its own, while Madam Malkin scribbled figures down on a piece of parchment with a quill. Once done, she clapped her hands and the tape measure disappeared while one of the shop assistants ran to the stockroom, reappearing a few moments later with a robe for Eve to put on. Malkin did up the fastenings at the front, then set to pinning the hem and cuffs with pins that seemed to appear between her fingers every time she lifted her hand for one. 

There you go, dear. I'll be back in just a minute with your finished uniform. She removed the robe before Eve knew what was happening, and swept into the back of the shop, leaving Eve standing there, bewildered. After a few moments, Malkin reappeared with a number of parcels and Eve followed her to the till, where Malkin helped her figure out exactly how many of each of the coins she was supposed to hand over. 

Hoisting the packages into her arms, Eve walked over to Flourish and Blotts', eagerly looking around when she entered. She had always loved to read and could spend hours in an ordinary Muggle bookshop; she might never want to leave a magic one. 

The shop assistant led her over to the shelves for Hogwarts students and she picked out the books she needed, buying used ones where she could. She had no idea of how much all her kit would cost and didn't want to have to return to Gringotts for more cash. 

The shopkeeper was just ringing up her books when McGonagall walked into the shop, carrying a few packages herself. They hurried out of the shop as a number of children bustled in, talking loudly about their preparations for the school year. 

As the afternoon wore on, the pile of parcels that Eve was carrying grew still larger, with the addition of her pewter cauldron, set of brass scales, a small telescope and set of basic potion ingredients. In every store, Eve heard the name Sirius Black being mentioned with something between fear and awe. 

Finally McGonagall pulled her into Ollivander's wand shop, briskly explaining to him just why someone who was obviously an adult was buying their very first wand. 

Ollivander merely looked at Eve curiously, then started measuring her as Madam Malkin had done, except taking much more detailed measurements. The measuring tape was still flitting around her head, measuring the distance between her eyes, the length of her nose and the like, when Ollivander turned away from her and began pulling boxes off shelves, handing her wand after wand, snatching them away after she had hardly had a chance to wave them. Here, try this--oak with dragon heartstring--no, beech with phoenix feather--not that either, what about willow with unicorn tail hair? No-- The mountain of boxes grew, until finally Ollivander pressed a nine-inch maple wand with a core of dragon heartstring into her hand. Immediately Eve felt her fingers grow warm, tingling slightly. Making a tentative swishing motion with the wand, she saw white sparks trail from the end. 

Ah! Beautiful, Ollivander said, taking the wand and placing it back in the box before heading to the till, I always say, the wand chooses the witch. That will be six galleons, please. 

Their last stop was Fotheringham's Furry & Feathered Familiars, and as they walked in they were greeted by squawks, hoots, mews and barks of every type and pitch. The shop assistant had to raise her voice to be heard over the din. 

A cat? Our cats and kittens are over here, she said, gesturing Eve over to one corner where many little pointed faces and pairs of yellow eyes stared out of the cages. As Eve approached, most of the felines started jumping or prancing behind the mesh of their cages as though they were contestants at the Miss Universe Pageant. 

Most...but not all. It was the lack of activity that drew Eve's attention to the last cage on the row just below eye level. Sitting about halfway back from the bars was a tiny black kitten, the white of its paws and face standing out from the dark shadows of the cage. The card attached to the cage said that it was only eight weeks old, male, and had already had its shots, but there was no name given. Eve stepped forward to see it better and the kitten took a tentative step forward, peering warily at her. Eve smiled at it, and said in a light voice, Come here, sweetie, bringing her face closer to the mesh. 

As the shop assistant started to stammer a warning about getting that close, the kitten took another couple steps up to the front of the cage and stuck its tiny paw between the mesh to gently touch Eve's cheek. 

If there could have been any doubt as to which cat she wanted before that moment, it disappeared as Eve felt the kitten's soft pads touch her cheek. The kitten withdrew its paw and stepped back while the shop assistant gawped at it. 

I'll take this one, Eve said, fighting the lump in her throat. 

The instant the kitten was placed in Eve' hands, it rubbed its tiny head against her jaw and purred. Eve handed over the money for the kitten, a travelling crate, collar and the usual accessories without paying much attention to the amount--whatever it was, it was a pittance compared to what she was getting in return. 

What are you going to name him? McGonagall asked, looking at the cat somewhat warily. The kitten was looking at McGonagall suspiciously, as though it wasn't sure whether she was friend or foe. 

Eve looked at the kitten for a moment, unsure of a name. It had to be something fitting, something that felt right. She looked at the little face, the patch of white that covered from just above the cat's golden eyes to its chin, watched the way it held back from the bright light of the street. Something fitting... The mask-like white patch, the midnight black of its fur, the way it seemed to prefer shadows and was wary of anyone but her... The name came to her as she thought of her favourite books, the name of a character that seemed to suit the kitten in a small way. 

I think I'll name him Erik, Eve said, and lowered the cage from eye level as they passed out of Diagon Alley. 


	3. The First of September

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: As always, thanks to my ever-faitful beta, Joan, a.k.a. "Hyacinth Macaw". 

And fear not Snape fans! Snapers will be appearing in the next chapter. I haven't forgotten him; he won't let me! 

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**Chapter Three: The First of September**

Two weeks later, Eve placed Erik's crate on top of her trunk and pushed her luggage trolley across King's Cross Station at ten-thirty on the morning of September the first. Her ticket for the Hogwarts Express was clutched tightly in her hand as she glanced up at the ticket barriers, knowing already that there wouldn't be a platform nine-and-three-quarters, but looking just the same. She had to wonder if there had been a misprint on her ticket, but the departure boards hadn't listed a Hogwarts Express at any platform. 

As she stood in front of platform nine wondering what to do, she heard someone behind her, chatting loudly. I wish they'd let us have brooms in first year. I heard Durmstrang students do, but no, not at Hogwarts. 

Eve turned to see a girl who appeared to be about eleven talking to another girl of the same age. A rather harried-looking woman was ushering them straight towards her. 

I don't see why you would need one, first years aren't allowed out of Hogwarts anyway. Now remember, just walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten and don't let yourself be distracted. You first, Min. The girl that had complained straightened her shoulders and walked forward. Eve craned her neck to see what happened to the girl, but there was a sudden surge of people and she was blocked from view. _Did she actually just walk through the barrier?_ Eve thought. 

As the other girl started moving, Eve pushed her trolley so that she was directly behind the other girl, following her. As they walked forward, Eve saw the other girl's trolley approach the barrier, and then all of a sudden she seemed to have walked through it. Eve had no time to think about what she saw because within a split second she was at the barrier, there was a loud rushing of air in her ears, everything went black for a moment-- 

And she was standing on a railway platform, the sign in front of her reading Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Hogwarts Express. A bright scarlet steam engine stood beside the platform where hundreds of children, almost all dressed in black robes, climbed into carriages, hugged their parents goodbye, or unloaded their luggage. 

Eve stood there for a moment, gaping at the scene, before a loud voice came over the loudspeaker and broke into her thoughts. 

All Hogwarts students, the train will be leaving in ten minutes. Hogwarts Express leaving in ten minutes. Please leave your luggage in the luggage rank and make your way onto the train. Thank you. 

Eve pushed her trolley to the luggage rank and grabbed her rucksack and Erik's crate from the top of her trunk. Climbing aboard, she walked down the corridor, pushing her way past other students moving in the opposite direction, some of whom gave her funny looks as she walked past. The train carriages were old-fashioned looking as well, with small, four-person compartments with doors instead of the open coach seating she was used to on British Rail trains. 

She managed to find an empty compartment near the end of the train and dropped onto a seat with her rucksack at her feet and Erik's crate on the seat beside her. Outside the whistle blew as a five-minute warning, and by sticking her head out the window, Eve could see plumes of steam rising from the engine. She closed the window and the door to the compartment before settling back into her seat and undoing the catch on Erik's crate. He bounded into her lap, for, shy as he was, he didn't much like being trapped in the crate, not after having the run of Eve's flat for two weeks. 

While the cat hadn't been hard to explin, she'd had to think a minute befre deciding how to explain to Beth why she was moving out. A simple story seemed best, and she'd said that she had only just been accepted for a position at a museum in Newcastle and would have to leave on the first of September. Beth hadn't questioned it at all, and so Eve had got over that first hurdle easily. The two intervening weeks had been filled with transporting her belongings to her parents' house (she wouldn't need much more than her clothes and some of her books at Hogwarts) and finding someone to sublet the flat, which hadn't been as arduous a task as she had expected. 

The door to the compartment banged open and a girl with curly red hair stuck her head in. Eve made to grab Erik, thinking he might dash into to passageway, but he seemed to be sidling towards his crate instead. 

Mind if we sit in here? the girl said, gesturing to her darker-haired friend out in the corridor. Both girls appeared to be about seventeen or so, and both already wore the school uniforms. Eve noticed that they were wearing ties with blue and bronze-coloured stripes, unlike the black one she had. _Where do the coloured ones come from?_ she wondered, briefly worrying that she'd got the wrong kind. 

No, come right in, Eve said, trying to look welcoming as her stomach did cartwheels. 

The two girls flopped down in the seats opposite and tried surreptitiously to give her the once-over. 

Are you teaching at Hogwarts? the dark-haired girl asked. 

Er, no. I'm a student. 

Really? What house are you in? You can't be in Ravenclaw or we would have seen you long before this. 

Well I'm not sure what house I'm in-- 

Oh, are you a transfer student? the redhead asked. 

No...this is my first year at any...er...magic school. 

They both looked at her curiously, then the dark-haired girl turned to look at her friend and they started chatting amongst themselves, almost as if Eve wasn't there. 

Eve felt herself colouring and tried to look as though she was preoccupied with looking at Erik's tags before taking out _The History of Magic_ and starting to read from where she'd left off. She'd read through quite a bit of her texts already, as the quick flips she'd taken through each of them once she'd got them home had piqued her curiosity. Besides, she had next to no knowledge about anything magical, and she would stick out enough already. Erik curled up on her lap and glared at the other girls in the compartment while Eve absent-mindedly stroked his fur as she read, taking occasional glances out the window at the countryside rolling past. 

She had just finished another chapter when the girls' chatter broke into her concentration. 

You know, Mum was saying we mightn't be able to go to Hogsmeade at all this year, what with Black on the loose, the dark-haired girls said, wrinkling her nose in disappointment. 

Despite the girls' chilly attitude towards her, Eve couldn't pass up this opportunity to resolve her curiosity. Excuse me? Why would wizards be afraid of Sirius Black? 

The girls looked at her as though she had transfigured into something slimy. Because Black _is_ a wizard, the red-haired girl said, clicking her tongue in annoyance, Didn't you _know_? He escaped from the wizard prison, Azkaban, that's why they never mention where he escaped from on the Muggle news. 

Since when do you watch the Muggle news? the dark-haired girl asked her companion. 

The other girl sighed and rolled her eyes, I had to visit my Hufflepuff cousin during the summer. He's half muggle, so they have a television and all that Muggle stuff. She launched into a description of the gadgets she'd seen over the summer and the conversation between the two started afresh, again as though Eve wasn't there. 

The sky outside rapidly darkened during the ride as grey, rain-heavy clouds appeared and blocked the late summer sunlight. In mid afternoon, rain began to fall steadily, pelting against the window and blurring the scenery. Lanterns flickered on as the little light left faded to almost pitch black. The rain was coming down in sheets when the train finally began to slow, the carriages shuddering in the gusts of wind as they lost momentum. 

We must be there already; this trip seems to get shorter every year, the dark-haired girl said. 

The red-haired girl looked at her watch, puzzlement crossing her face. No, wait, we can't be at Hogsmeade yet, we've got at least an hour. Just as she said that, the train stopped and in an instant all the lights were extinguished. 

Eve could hear squeals of fright and surprise from up and down the train corridors, as well as a the rumble of voices in the passage over the sound of the storm outside. The two girls were talking excitedly to each other when there suddenly came the sound of their compartment door opening and a low, sucking, rattling noise. Eve felt a sudden cold feeling creep into the compartment, a weight of sadness seeming to drop on her shoulders. For some reason, memories of the taunts of her peers rushed back to her from years before, making fun of the way she looked and her penchant for books, that familiar feeling of crushing loneliness filling her stronger than ever before. She was alone, she would always be alone... It felt as though the darkness inside her was swallowing her whole, that she'd never be happy again... 

Erik jumped off her lap and Eve made a wild grab for him, but missed. She could hear him over by the compartment door, hissing and spitting at something, but it was too dark to see her companions, much less a mostly black cat. 

Oh, hell. _Lumos_! one of the other girls said, and a dim light sprouted from the dark-haired girl's wand, illuminating Erik, his fur standing on end, back arched as he tried to scare off the figure in the doorway. 

It was very tall, its head brushing the top of the door frame and was dressed in a long, black cloak, the hood throwing the figure's face into a deep shadow. It was so intimidating that Eve unconsciously pressed herself against her seat in sheer terror, as if she could eventually absorb into the cushion, out of the figure's sight. 

The other girls looked as frightened as she was, their eyes staring at the figure in horror. Eve could hear shrieks of terror and crying from other compartments in their carriage. 

The figure stood there for what seemed like hours before it finally turned and shut the door, moving down the car, the rustle of its cloak the only sound it made as it passed. 

What the hell was that? Eve gasped, her heart very slowly beginning to return to its normal rate, every nerve jangling. The temperature in the compartment seemed to rise with the figure's departure, and the sorrow and depression that it had caused in Eve was slowly fading. The other girls looked as shaken as she was, and when they spoke their voices held none of the disdain and superiority of before. 

D-dementor. One of the g-guards of Azkaban, the redhead said, her teeth chattering. 

God, n-no w-wonder Azkaban's s-such an awful place, the other girl said. 

The lights flickered on and the train slowly started to make its way forward again, but no one in Eve's compartment seemed to be much comforted by this, except Erik. Once the train was underway again he crossed the compartment and hopped into Eve's lap, rubbing himself against her hand. She petted him absent-mindedly, hands shaking. 

There was silence in her compartment for the next hour until a voice came over the speakers on the train, saying that they were nearly there and students should leave all luggage on the train. Eve was more than happy to hear that, and hoped that the Dementors were all somewhere else on the train, that she wouldn't have to get anywhere near them anytime soon. Packing Erik back into his crate, she pulled her uniform out of her rucksack, putting it on in one of the lavatories in their train car shortly before the train began to slow once more. 

Eve stepped off the train, looking around in confusion at the tiny railway station they had stopped at. With the rain pelting down she felt absolutely frozen, her hands turning pink with the damp and cold as she pulled up the hood of her robes and wiped her glasses dry on her uniform sweater. Over the din of chattering students and the steady downpour, she heard people calling to each other as the group herded down the platform. 

Eve hardly had to look around before she saw the source of the voice booming Firs' years! Firs' years over . It was coming from an absolutely enormous man, towering over everyone else, his bushy black hair and beard almost hiding his face. She walked over nervously, joining the other first year students and feeling like the proverbial sore thumb in the sea of eleven-year-olds. At least most of them seemed to be too preoccupied with what had happened on the train to take much notice of her. 

The man looked at her curiously for a second before calling out, Ah, you mus' be Miss Berger! A'righ' everyone, I'm Hagrid, er-- Eve thought she saw his mouth form a smile for a moment under that huge beard-- Groundskeeper at Hogwarts. I'll lead yeh to yer boats, jus' follow me! Eve and the rest of the first years followed the bouncing light of Hagrid's lantern, down a dark path. There was a sudden bend in the path, and a single, unified gasp rose from the students' throats as they took in their first view of Hogwarts, still visible through the heavy rain. At their feet was a large, dark lake with a number of boats tied up along the shore. Beyond that, on top of a high, craggy mountain, was a huge, walled castle. Turrets and towers sprouted from the main building as though it was a plant, growing in every direction. There had to be hundreds of rooms, Eve thought, almost forgetting the Dementors. Light glowed from each of the thousands of windows, of varying shapes and sizes. The light looked warm and comforting, and Eve couldn't wait to get in out of the rain. In the dim light from the castle's windows, it looked like something from a fairy tale, unreal, _magical_. This, then, was Hogwarts. 

All righ', four to a boat then, everyone. Miss Berger, you'd best come wi' me--yer taller n these others an' you'll tip the smaller boats, Hagrid said, and Eve reddened. She had to wonder whether it was her height or her weight that would tip the other boats, and she could see a few of the students sniggering behind their hands as Hagrid handed her into the large boat at the head of the fleet. 

Once everyone had boarded one of the boats, the little fleet set off across the choppy waters of the lake, each craft apparently under its own command. Eve glanced nervously at the waves, but her gaze was inevitably drawn back to the castle. She had always been fascinated by history, had majored in it in university, and she had loved visiting what remained of those castles still standing. The idea of living in one that was in perfect condition... 

They were approaching the cliff now and in front of her, Hagrid called out Everyone duck, now! as a curtain of ivy parted in front of them, revealing a dark tunnel. Eve ducked, then straightened as the tunnel passed away to reveal an underground cavern. Within a few more minutes, the boats reached a small dock, and the students scrambled out of the boats and onto the rocks, careful not to slip with their wet shoes. 

Hagrid held the lantern high, revealing a staircase heading up through the cavern, the first tread flanked by two more of those Dementors. The students quickly followed him past them, Eve cringing as she did, and they climbed upwards for what seemed like ages, until they reached a tunnel that ended on the Hogwarts grounds. Hagrid led them across the wet grass to two huge oak doors, which towered over even him, pounded on them with his giant fist, and waited. 


	4. Welcome to Hogwarts

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans), except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: Particular thanks to my beta, Joan, as she helped me write the Sorting Hat song in this chapter. Check out her brilliant fics under her pen name: "Hyacinth Macaw". 

At last, Snape fans! Our beloved Potions Master has a segment in this chapter, and will have in almost every chapter from now on, as the fic does centre around Snape and Eve, for the most part. He's my favourite character as well, so I _do_ want to have him in here when possible. I just needed to set up my OC, which unfortunately necessitated Snape's absence for a little while. Enjoy! 

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**Chapter Four: Welcome to Hogwarts**

There was a moment's pause before one of the doors creaked open, and someone stepped into the doorway, silhouetted in the light of the entrance. A tiny man, shorter than the students even, stood in the doorway. 

'Ere's the firs' years, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid said and the small man motioned for the students to follow him into the Entrance Hall. They trouped in, looking around in awe as the climbed the large staircase to the landing and another pair of doors, these ones only a little smaller than the outer doors. Eve could hear the buzz of chatter in the room beyond, as though there was a huge hive of bees behind the doors. 

Flitwick gave the students an uneasy smile, as though he was trying to appear more cheerful than he felt. When he spoke, it was with a high-pitched voice, his apparent nervousness making him squeak at points. Welcome, new students! In a minute you will enter the Great Hall, but before we begin the Welcoming Feast, you will all have to be sorted into one of the four houses here at Hogwarts. The houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. You will attend classes with your housemates, eat with them, sleep in the house dormitories and spend your free time in the house common rooms. Now please wait here a minute, while I check that everything is ready. 

Flitwick left, and as soon as he was out of sight feverish whispers began amongst the students. Exactly how was one sorted? Did they have to do some form of magic trick? Was there some sort of quiz? Someone in the group had heard something about a hat from an older brother at Hogwarts; were names picked out of it at random? 

Eve listened to the whispers, the knot in her stomach tightening by the second. She prayed fervently that it was a random selection, or something not requiring magical knowledge. Though she'd read some of her books for the term already, she didn't remember much and she hadn't actually tried any spells or anything yet. 

Finally Flitwick returned, and ordered them to form a line. That done, he pushed open the doors, and the students filed into a large hall, larger than any room they had ever been in. There was a collective gasp as they took in the high, vaulted ceiling that displayed the gloomy night sky outside, the thousands of candles that floated above their heads, the golden plates and goblets set along the long house tables, the huge leaded-glass windows along the hall that reflected the candlelight like an infinite number of twinkling, yellow stars. 

Eve tried not to look around her at the students they were passing, all of whom were staring at the newcomers; at her, most particularly. She should have realized when she'd accepted a place here that she'd be the subject of attention, as, even amongst the older students, she would likely stick out. 

The line of first years made their way to the front of the hall to stand in a row in front of the teachers' table, which was on a raised platform. In front of the table, someone had placed a low stool and on top of that, a rather ancient- and shabby-looking pointed hat. The hat was patched in various places and it looked as though if someone as much as touched it, it would fall to pieces. Eve looked at it with the eye of a conservator and wondered how on earth it kept its shape, as well as how old it could be, considering the castle would likely be damp and draughty. 

As she peered at the hat, it seemed to move slightly, and a large rip near the brim opened wide.. The hall fell silent and as she looked at it in astonishment, the hat began to sing. 

_Four houses form the Hogwarts roll   
Their names known far and near   
But which one will be your house   
When you are Sorted here?   
Gryffindor is the house   
For those made of sterner stuff   
Slytherin is perfect for   
those who find 'good' not enough   
Ravenclaws use their brains   
To find their problems' end   
Hufflepuffs show loyalty   
To an ally and a friend   
This school begun with much pride   
By the Hogwarts Founders Four   
These four houses bear their names   
Now they are here no more   
So slip me on your noggin   
And let me take a peek   
Put your trust in my wisdom   
And you'll find what you seek._

The applause died down, and Flitwick hopped up onto a stepstool before taking out a large scroll of parchment from his robes. When I read your name, please come up here, sit on this stool and then place the hat on your head. When you have been sorted, you can go sit with your housemates. Abelson, Morgan! 

A small, blonde-haired girl stepped forward, nearly shaking with fright. Flitwick lifted the hat from the stool as she neared, then placed it on Abelson's head, the brim slipping down over her eyes. There was a pause, then the hat's mouth opened. 

it shouted, and Flitwick lifted the hat off Abelson's head before she ran to join her cheering housemates. 

Ayers, Thomas! A scrawny boy with smooth, brown hair sat on the stool and again the brim of the hat fell to about mouth level on him. A slightly longer pause this time, then: 

Berger, Eve! 

Eve gulped and walked up to the stool with wobbly legs and sweaty palms, feeling the curious stares of the entire hall on her. Flitwick placed the hat on her head...and it fit perfectly. There was a rumble of laughter in the hall, and Eve kept her eyes resolutely pointed upwards at the brim of the hat, trying to will herself not to turn any more pink than she already was. 

From inside the hat she could hear a muffled voice saying, Hrm, quite a different sort of head here than I'm used to, older, but that does make things easier... A good deal of intelligence, that's for sure, and very loyal as well... A peculiar combination of wanting to do well, with a desire not to be noticed...not Slytherin then, but what's this? There's courage here, quite a good deal of it... 

_Me? Brave? Hardly. I highly doubt that I'd be the type to run into a burning building for someone,_ Eve thought. 

You would be surprised, the hat said, and Eve started. She'd forgotten that it could probably read her thoughts. There is bravery here, more than you think. Yes, I think you definitely belong in...GRYFFINDOR! This last was shouted to the entire hall, and there were cheers at the Gryffindor table. Flitwick lifted the hat off Eve's head and she scurried for the refuge of the table, sinking into a seat with a relieved sigh, even if she wasn't entirely certain that the hat had made the right choice. 

The sorting continued, with applause and cheers from each table as another house member was added to their ranks. Finally the Sorting Hat and stool were removed and Flitwick moved to his seat at the teachers' table, along with McGonagall, who had come in through a side entrance. There was a momentary surge of muttering at the Gryffindor table, and Eve turned to see a dark-haired boy and a smugly-smiling girl seating themselves at the table. 

What was that all about? a young, red-haired boy said quietly as the other two sat down. The dark-haired boy looked as though he was about to reply, but stopped abruptly as he looked at the head table, and Eve turned to see what had cut him off. 

An ancient-looking man with twinkling eyes, sitting in a large throne at the centre seat of the teachers' table, stood and looked around the hall, silence falling again. Eve assumed that this was the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. 

Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! he said brightly, I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast. He cleared his throat before continuing, becoming slightly more stern. As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled with tricks or disguises, or even Invisibility Cloaks- Dumbledore glanced briefly over at the Gryffindor table, and Eve turned slightly to see the red-haired and dark-haired boys look at each other momentarily. It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors. Dumbledore's expression brightened then, and went on to introduce the two new teachers: a Professor Lupin, who appeared rather pale and scruffy, as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; and Hagrid, who was taking over Care of Magical Creatures. Finally, Dumbledore took a look around the hall, and announced that the feast would begin. 

At Dumbledore's word, huge platters of food appeared on the tables out of thin air. Eve gaped at it all. There was more different types of food here than she could have bought in a months' shopping. Roast chicken and beef, four types of potatoes, huge bowls of steamed or boiled vegetables, tureens of gravy, piles of fresh-baked bread and buns, sausages, corn-on-the-cob, huge jugs of what appeared to be pumpkin juice...enough food at each table to feed a small country. Only once the food appeared did Eve realize that she was absolutely ravenous, having eaten next to nothing on the train. She refilled her plate two times, each time taking a helping of something different. Much to her surprise, not only was there a lot of food, but it was good as well. She had been expecting the Hogwarts food to be as bad as that they'd served in her university residence, and about as unidentifiable. But this tasted like it had been cooked by some expert chef--or by her mother. Everything was flavourful and done to perfection. 

Once the first hunger pangs had been assuaged, the students began talking, asking the usual introductory questions of each other. Quite predictably, a few of those questions were directed at Eve. 

Aren't you too old to be a first year? a girl with a sharp face and blonde curls asked. Eve could hear a few conversations amongst the older students trailing off as they listened for her answer. 

Er, yes. Apparently I've somehow developed magical powers, only in the last few years. 

Were you a squib, then? a chubby-faced boy asked. 

A what? 

A squib. Someone from a magic family who doesn't have magic powers. 

No. None of my family are magic--at least, none that I know of. 

Ah. A Muggle, then, the sharp-faced girl said. How old are you, exactly? 

Eve said, preoccupying her gaze with pouring gravy on her roast chicken so she wouldn't have to see the odd expressions she knew were all around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the students closest to her look at each other in amazement. One of them turned the conversation to something else, though Eve couldn't quite figure out whether it was intended as a kindness or a snub. 

After they had stuffed themselves on dinner, desserts appeared: numerous cakes and squares, bowls of ice cream, and dishes of sweets. Though everyone had eaten as much as they could with the main course, they managed to make a sizeable dent in the desserts as well. 

So that's who we've got for the year, said an upper-year student sitting on Eve's left, gesturing toward Lupin. The speaker was one of two identical twin boys, both with matching freckles and bright red hair. 

Is it just a yearly position? Eve asked. 

Might as well be. We haven't had a teacher stay from more than a year or so for most of the time we've been here, eh George? The boy looked over at his twin. 

And yet Snape still hasn't managed to get the job, George said. He turned to Eve, holding out his hand. George Weasley. This is Fred, he said, gesturing to his twin.

Eve took the proffered hand gladly. Eve Berger. Who's Snape? 

Professor Snape, teaches potions and he's the head of Slytherin House. You can't miss him; he's the sour-looking, greasy-haired git two to the right from Dumbledore, Fred replied.

Eve looked along the table and saw the man they were talking about. He was hard to miss. Dressed all in black, with long, greasy black hair and a long, aquiline nose that looked like it had been broken at least once, he stood out amongst the somewhat more colourfully dressed teachers. He was also the only one with a positively acidic expression on his face. He kept glancing over at Lupin with purely venomous looks, which Lupin appeared not to notice. 

He certainly looks...intimidating, Eve said, slowly. 

You don't know the half of it. He's a right bastard, Snape. He'll take points off for anything, particularly from us Gryffindors. Just don't get on his bad side, or he'll hound you every day you're here. 

Which is easier said than done, the black-haired boy said. 

Snape's had a grudge against Harry, here, since the day he arrived, Fred explained, It's a really long story, and we don't know the half of it. Suffice to say, you don't want Snape to single you out. 

_Too late,_ thought Eve, _I don't think I could stand out more if I got up on the table and danced the tango in a chicken suit._

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Snape watched the Sorting with barely-disguised boredom. He paid enough attention to get a good look at the students entering his house, trying to mentally file away the names and faces for later. He had to admit to some curiosity as to what the much-discussed Miss Berger looked like and where she ended up, but lost interest when she was Sorted into Gryffindor. 

_Just what the world needs,_ Snape thought, _another reckless fool probably in need of an attitude adjustment._ But once Berger had sat down, looking excessively relieved, his thoughts returned to the subject they'd been occupied with for weeks now: Remus Lupin, who sat a few chairs down from him. Snape found himself looking at Lupin often, not bothering to disguise the hatred that was bubbling inside him. 

Lupin, for the most part, never even glanced over at where Snape sat, and certainly didn't seem to notice Snape's glares. He chatted amicably with the other teachers, acting as though everything was perfectly normal, that he was just any other teacher. As though the man wasn't a danger to everyone around him once a month. As though the man's (former?) best friend, now a psychotic murderer, hadn't managed to escape from prison a few weeks before, disappearing without a trace. 

Snape found Lupin's ease and comfort greatly irritating and not a little suspicious. Lupin and Black had tried to kill him once before, after all. With that in Lupin's past, he might very well not have been too concerned about Black's later actions. The man was a bloody werewolf. If Black came to Lupin asking for help to get to Harry Potter... 

Dumbledore caught Snape's eye as Snape glared at Lupin yet again, giving Snape a level look before standing to dismiss the students. Snape turned his eyes back to the table as he stood to leave, thinking back to the numerous times he'd tried to talk to the Headmaster about his decision to hire Lupin. He'd made further protests after the staff meeting, his respect for Dumbledore preventing him from coming out and saying anything against the Headmaster's decision in front of the other teachers. 

_But the Headmaster wasn't willing to listen, naturally,_ Snape thought with a sneer as he strode purposefully down to his chambers in the dungeon. Dumbledore had always had a soft spot for Lupin, as he had for Potter, Black and Pettigrew, viewing them as near-harmless pranksters, not knowing half of what they'd done to their fellow students. Snape himself, especially. The thought that he had effectively dismissed their attempted murder of Snape, had even had the temerity to ask Snape not to tell anyone about Lupin, still rankled. Despite the fact that Snape owed Dumbledore so much, had long before given lip service to his forgiveness of Dumbledore for the handling of that incident, he certainly had not forgotten. And he'd be damned if he'd let Lupin get anywhere near committing the same act on anyone else. 

That was why he'd agreed to brew the wolfsbane potion for Lupin. It wasn't out of kindness, or even simply because the Headmaster had asked him to. He wasn't about to risk anything happening to any of the students and therefore having two werewolves running around the school. Somewhere beneath the accumulated sludge in his soul, he had enough of a sense of honour to make certain of that. Besides, this way he could keep a close watch on Lupin, just in case Sirius Black came calling at the castle. 

Arriving at his rooms, Snape took down a thick, leather-bound Astronomy book, thumbing through the pages until he found the chapter on calculating the phase and placement of the moon. Using the mathematical formulas inside, he quickly calculated when the next full moon would be, down to the minute. The last full moon had just waned, giving him a few weeks to prepare the potion for the next cycle; as the mixture took two weeks to fully mature, it was a good thing that he had the time. 

Grabbing a book from a different shelf, Snape flipped to the page where he'd neatly noted the recipe for the wolfsbane potion, and went to his stores to retrieve the proper ingredients. It wasn't likely that he would make a mistake, but he had long before learned to leave enough time, in case something inexplicably went wrong. In this case, he was taking no chances. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Finally everyone was excused to go to bed, the prefects leading their charges to the respective dormitories. The Gryffindor prefect, Percy Weasley (who was Head Boy as well) kept up a running commentary as he led them to Gryffindor Tower, Eve trying to look around at the various stairwells and hallways that they passed through while listening to him. Eve was certain that she'd never remember how to get back up there, particularly when the stairwells kept moving. 

They reached what appeared to be a dead end, a large portrait of a fat woman in a pink dress on the wall at the end. As they approached, the woman in the portrait moved, lifting her fan gracefully. 

the fat woman asked. 

Fortuna Major, Percy said, and the portrait swung open to reveal a large hole in the wall. They stepped through the hole and entered a cosy, circular sitting room, full of generously stuffed armchairs and with a large fireplace. 

Percy gestured around the room as he spoke. This is your common room. The boys' dormitories are up the left-hand staircase, the girls up the right. You'll spend most of your free time in here-- 

His instructions were interrupted by a shriek from one of the other first years. Eve turned with everyone else to see a translucent, white shape make its way through the wall. It was a man, dressed in a ruff and doublet, with a pointed beard and moustache. 

Why, hello, he said, and drifted towards the first years, who all took a step back. New Gryffindors, eh? I'm Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, house ghost. Hope you'll keep up the proud tradition. Now that we're beating Slytherin for the House Cup again, we don't want to break our winning streak, do we? He shook his head at that, and suddenly his head flopped to the side, as though on a hinge. His neck had been almost completely severed, except for a thin piece of skin and muscle. A chorus of disgusted moans rose from the group. Eve was suddenly thinking that maybe she shouldn't have eaten so much at dinner, as she was dangerously close to losing it at that moment. 

_You're_ Nearly Headless Nick? one of the first-years piped up. 

Nick looked rather miffed. _Sir Nicholas_, if you don't mind. Now, I'd best be off--the other ghosts and I are having a bit of a start-of-year bash down in the dungeons. He waved to the group and then drifted off through the portrait. 

The first year students were led up to their dormitories, Percy taking Eve aside before she started up the girls' staircase. You've got a separate room all to yourself, it's a couple flights up. Your initials will be on the door, you can't miss it." Eve thanked him and started up the stairs, passing two landings before finally finding it a three-step staircase branching off the main one, leading to a slightly recessed door with "E.B." on it in gold lettering. 

Opening the door, her eyes widened as she took in her first sight of her home for the next few years. The room was snug; not cramped, but not large either. There was a four-poster bed to her left, crimson curtains hanging from the canopy, and a puffy, crimson duvet covering the bed. A wardrobe and night table stood on opposite sides of the bed. There were two recessed, leaded-glass casement windows across from her bed, with a fireplace tucked inbetween them. A desk and set of shelves had been placed in between the door and one of the windows. The walls and floor were stone, the room lit by hurricane lamps in wall brackets.

Eve noticed that her belongings had been brought up, her trunk placed at the foot of her bed, her rucksack placed just inside the door. Erik was curled up on her bed looking contented, his almost-empty food bowl evidence that someone had made sure he was fed. She closed the door behind her, and, too weary to think of anything else, changed into her night-gown and climbed into bed, noticing that the fire died down and the lamps extinguished themselves as she closed her bed-curtains. Snuggling under the thick duvet, she only briefly wondered what the first day of classes would bring, before finally falling into a sound sleep.


	5. The Headmaster's Summons

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: As ever, thanks to the person who has the courage to tell me if something's crap: Joan (aka HyacinthMacaw), my beta. 

I'd also like to thank the people that have reviewed my fic thus far: faerie, Sage, mione and Belle Starr. I really appreciate your comments! 

I apologise for the lack of Snape in this chapter--Potions class is in Chapter 6! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter Five: The Headmaster's Summons**

Eve appeared at the Gryffindor table the next morning, dressed in her school uniform (now accented in Gryffindor colours) and exceedingly nervous about the first day of classes. She could hardly eat anything for breakfast, though there was a dazzling array of food, all of which looked and smelled wonderful. 

Across the room she could see a boy at the Slytherin table looking over at someone at her table and melodramatically pretending to faint. Glancing back at the Gryffindors, she saw the dark-haired boy that had come in late the night before roll his eyes as he sat down to breakfast further along the table. 

You'd think that kid would at least give Harry Potter some respect, of all people, one of the other students sniffed. 

Who's Harry Potter? Eve asked. 

She immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say if she didn't want to draw attention to herself. Every fork and knife within hearing distance clattered to the table top as their owners turned to stare at her. 

Everyone seemed to talk at once. 

But... That's _Harry Potter_- one said, pointing at the dark-haired boy. 

The one who defeated You-Know-Who- 

Eve asked, but her question was lost in the exclamations. 

You have to know who he is- 

How else did you think he got that scar- 

_Everyone_ knows who Harry Potter is! 

_Everyone except me,_ Eve thought ruefully. 

Thankfully, everyone's attention was distracted from her as the first-year timetables were passed down the table. Eve took hers and was looking at the list of classes for that day (Charms with the Ravenclaws, History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, study period after lunch and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs again) when a large rushing noise above her made her look up in consternation. 

Ah, mail's here, someone at the table said, and Eve saw what looked like hundreds of owls flying in, swooping down to the tables, dropping letters and packages. She had to wonder how any of the birds could see their owners through the cloud of beaks, talons and feathers, but each owl seemed to instinctively know where to go. 

One dropped a heavy package by a boy a little further down the table, making everyone's orange juice slosh over the rim of their goblets. A girl with fluffy hair sitting next to him said, Did you forget something _again_, Neville? 

Eve was startled to see a large tawny owl apparently flying directly towards her, and leaned back as it landed lightly on her empty plate, dropping a note in front of her. She looked at it curiously, but the owl had no tags to identify its owner. Certainly no one she knew could be sending her a letter? The owl hooted at her hopefully and she gave it a triangle of toast, which it grabbed in its beak before flying off again. 

Breaking the seal on the single sheet of paper, she unfolded her letter, tilting it away from her table-mates. Inside, in rather loopy handwriting, was written: 

_Miss Berger; _

_I would like to meet with you some time today to discuss certain provisions made on your behalf. I believe you have a free period after lunch? Just take the main stairwell up to the second floor, and then walk down the right hand corridor until you get to the stone gargoyle. The password is Mint Humbug'. _

_Prof. A. Dumbledore,   
Headmaster._

Eve gulped. Despite the cheery tone in his voice at dinner the night before, she couldn't help but feel a little intimidated at the thought of meeting the Headmaster. The ones she'd had in school had been rather tyrannical; thank goodness she'd never been in any real trouble. Not that she'd never wanted to do something against school rules that wouldn't hurt anyone else; she just didn't want to suffer the punishment. 

The thought of meeting with Professor Dumbledore disappeared from her mind, however, once class began. Just getting there was an odyssey in itself. There were so many floors, stairs and corridors in Hogwarts that she had to wonder if she'd ever be able to find her way around. She didn't get to a single class on time, though she was comforted by the fact that no one else in her class did either. 

Then the classes themselves were rather trying. Even sitting down, Eve was still taller than any other student in the class, and she couldn't help but notice the teachers speaking in her direction at times when they lectured, as though they had some expectation that she should know what they were talking about. She scribbled down everything they said, not quite having the hang of using a quill just yet, though she had practised. 

Charms looked to be rather interesting, though she had to wonder how she would ever remember all those commands and the accompanying movements. It was a little like learning a foreign language at times, and even when she thought she had the movements down, the spells still failed her half the time. Still, it looked like the other students were doing about as well as she was. 

History of Magic was a little better. Despite the fact that Professor Binns was interesting as a person because he was the only deceased member of the staff, his form of lecturing was boring to the point of sleep-inducing, and Eve found herself struggling to pay attention. Parts of the class weren't that bad, however. The history of magic seemed to run parallel to Muggle history, passing through some of the same events, though with a completely different perspective. Though she still didn't know anything about the magic side of history, her previous knowledge of the Muggle side meant that she wasn't completely lost in Binns' rambling. 

With the morning over and her stomach threatening to go off on its own and find food if she didn't feed it, Eve eagerly tucked into lunch, wolfing down sandwiches and soup. Once everyone was finished, her fellow Gryffindors marched off to the library, while Eve set off to find Professor Dumbledore's office. 

It was nearly twenty minutes before she finally found the stone gargoyle along an empty, dark corridor. Mint humbug, she said, and the gargoyle jumped to one side, the wall behind opening to reveal a spiral staircase whose treads revolved slowly upwards. Eve stepped onto one somewhat nervously, and held tightly on to the rail as the staircase took her ever higher. A couple minutes passed, and she was beginning to become a little light headed by the time a large oak door appeared at the top of the staircase. She stepped off the stairs, pausing for a moment in front of the door, then lifted the heavy knocker in the shape of a griffon. Taking a deep breath, Eve knocked firmly on the door, and entered as soon as she heard the answering call of Come in! 

As she walked in, she took a quick look around the room. The walls were covered in portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, shelves cluttered with a number of odd, unknown objects, and lit by sunlight streaming through large, leaded-glass windows. Professor Dumbledore stood behind the desk, and it struck her how tall he was up close. 

Come in, and take a seat. How was your first morning? he asked, gesturing to one of two large, winged armchairs placed across from the desk. 

Eve sat a little stiffly, her nerves preventing her from getting too comfortable. All right. You said there were some things that you wanted to discuss with me? 

Yes. As you can probably imagine, having someone of your age in the first year at Hogwarts has necessitated some changes to the rules, at least in your case. As you already know, you have been given your own room, as no doubt it would be rather awkward for you to room with the other first-year girls. Also, it seems rather unfair to force a young woman used to being independent to adhere to some of the same rules as the younger students. First, you have been given an extension on your curfew, though I have to ask that you to be in Gryffindor tower by eleven o'clock at night. 

Second, usually one must be in their third year before you are allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Again, we are loosening this rule for you, and you are also permitted to go to Hogsmeade at non-scheduled times, as long as you check with Professor McGonagall first, and give a time you can be expected back. 

Third, as you have been through university and are older than the other students, the teachers and I have decided on a slightly modified course of study for you. As you are used to a heavier workload, we have decided that you should be given extra tutoring time in each class, so that you can complete your course of study here in a shorter amount of time than the customary seven years; say, four or five years instead. You can arrange your tutorials with your teachers individually, as your schedule and theirs permits.

"Other than these three, I have to say that the same rules apply to you as to the other students, though if you think a rule is unfair considering your age, please come and discuss it with me. Does that sound suitable to you? 

Eve's head was swimming with all the information that Dumbledore had given her, but she couldn't think of anything in particular that she should bring up, except her usual doubts. She didn't want to mention those, however. They would probably sound whiny and trivial to Dumbledore. 

That sounds fine, she said, trying to keep her doubts from showing on her face. 

Dumbledore's kind smile broadened. Good. And I would like to add that if ever you have any problems, or anything you would like to talk about, please come see me. I may not be able to talk to you at that very moment, but I can always make time for a student. Now I believe the rest of your class is in the library? 

Eve took that as a cue that the interview was over, and thanked Dumbledore before leaving and finding her way to the library. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next few days passed in much the same fashion, her classes interesting but a little frightening and mortifying at the same time. Some of the teachers occasionally appeared to be wondering how a girl her age could know so little about magic, and how she could be picking it up so slowly. Eve had to wonder the same things. She had always hated failure in herself and was both disheartened and frustrated when things wouldn't work for her, or she couldn't answer a question asked of her. Certainly she was doing about as well as any of her fellow first-year students, but the fact that she was older than they were, and had had more of a conventional education than they seemed to raise the expectations slightly. Sometimes she had to look at herself and wonder, how could a university graduate be such a dunce? 

And of all her classes, it was Wednesday Potions with the Slytherins that really drove that feeling home.


	6. Beakers, Broomsticks & Sirius Black

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: As ever, thanks to my beta, Joan (aka HyacinthMacaw), who has also become my chapter-uploader (at least till I update Netscape or get things to work with Explorer).

The description of Snape in the first paragraph was inspired by a drawing by Nasubionna. You'll have to do a Google search on her name, as FFN REALLY does not like URLs and I apparently can't even just type it in (grrrr). Anyway, it's worth the effort. Her artworks and interpretations of the characters are absolutely brilliant. Take a look at her work, you won't be disappointed!

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**Chapter Six: Beakers, Broomsticks & Sirius Black**

Snape sat at his desk as the Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years filed in that Wednesday morning, his elbows resting on the desktop, fingers steepled as he stared at them beadily. He watched each one, mentally trying to recall any familiar family names as the Gryffindors seated themselves, playing his usual start-of-term game as he tried to predict which, if any, of them might actually be able to hack it in his class. He had a few Slytherins in mind, but the Gryffindors all looked nervous and shaky, particularly the much-discussed Miss Berger. 

She looked rather uncomfortable as she crept into the dungeon, casting one fleeting, wary glance at him before taking a seat near the back. Snape couldn't decide whether her seat choice was made as a courtesy to the smaller students, so she wouldn't block their view, or because she was hoping to hide in the shadows near the back. He figured it was probably the former, but fervently hoped it was the latter. He'd often found that those who want to escape notice are the best to single out, and he had no intention of letting Miss Berger hide in his class. 

_No doubt she has some feeling that she's above taking classes with eleven-year-olds, or that she'll be able to breeze through this_, Snape thought. _Well, there hasn't been a student yet that I couldn't correct in that assumption_. A slight sneer curled at his lips. Yes, this year would be interesting indeed.

Snape waited until everyone had entered, freezing any whispered conversation with a cold glance around the room before taking the roll. The names snapped off his tongue, his voice laden with disdain, before he finally placed the sheet of parchment on his desk and scanned the faces of his class. When he spoke, his voice was soft, silky, and deadly cold; the voice of someone who is all the more frightening and intimidating because they _aren't_ yelling. He had often found that a rather potent weapon as well.

Some of you, no doubt, will wonder why potions are even considered magic, as you will never use your wands and there are absolutely no fancy phrases for you to speak. Indeed I expect most of you will never see the magic inherent in liquids and concoctions that infiltrate the mind and body, cheating the senses and subtly--or not so subtly--altering the brain's function. But for those with even half a grain of sense and talent, I can teach you to create potions more effective, more devious and even more dangerous than many of those melodramatic spells. That is, if you're not the usual bunch of dunderheads that I'm saddled with for the next seven years.

He paused a moment, letting the students squirm in their seats, looking around at the class as though he was looking for his first victim. In fact he had already chosen the first student to call on, had made that decision before class had begun. He was determined to show Miss Berger from the beginning that no matter her age or education, to him she was another ignorant first-year student, and that he wouldn't take kindly to any insubordination or threats to his authority over the class. If she was at all inclined to be snarky or a know-it-all, he wanted to squash that instinct from the beginning.

All he really had to do was to choose which of the stock questions he would ask. He had about five or so that he asked classes on the first day of every year, usually chosen from well into _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ and _Magical Draughts and Potions_, so that it was unlikely they would be able to answer them. That, too, he found useful, to single out any of the most cocky- (non-Slytherin of course) or nervous-looking students. They were the ones he figured needed the most toughening up, who needed his little doses of reality. And he had to admit, deep down, that it was also the most fun to make those students squirm.

Miss Berger! He saw her blink behind her wire-rimmed glasses at the sharpness of his address, and even in the dim light of the dungeons, he could see a flush come to her cheeks. Can you tell me one use of dittander?

She twisted her lips and looked upward briefly, as though trying to remember. Finally she replied, I don't know, sir, in a soft voice.

Fine, then, can you name how to store bats' fangs?

Snape saw her give a small gulp. No doubt she was wondering when he'd stop questioning her and draw the class' attention away from her. I don't remember, sir, she said, colouring a little more.

He sneered more openly, and he could see some of the Slytherins--and even some of the Gryffindors, much to his surprise--sniggering slightly.

One last opportunity, Miss Berger. What is the more common name for digitalis?

He saw the light appear on her face, and inwardly heaved a sigh. Damn, looked like she knew this one.

Foxglove, sir, she said, her chin lifting slightly.

At least your education has taught you _something_ useful, he sneered, and watched as she turned a little redder and her eyes hardened slightly. _Ah, did I touch a nerve there, Miss Berger? Not entirely the shy violet are we? So you do have a bit of a temper..._ He was glad of that, actually. He found those students that merely cowered before him rather annoying, really, Neville Longbottom being a perfect example. And a small dose of temper would serve his students well in the real world, particularly when the Dark Lord returned to power. Though most people preferred to think that he was dead and gone, Snape was of a different opinion. He was certain that someday, the Dark Lord would resurface, and it was all the better if people were prepared for the battle to come.

Snape directed the class' attention to the potion recipe on the blackboard and told them to copy it down before fetching the ingredients from the students' supply cupboard and preparing the potion, a simple draught for curing boils. It usually proved an effective barometer of the students' potion-making abilities.

He walked up and down the rows as the students worked, taking a look at their method and making a few caustic comments. He purposely saved his kindest comments for the members of his house, though his words to them were still hardly what most people would call . He wanted to get these children on his side from the very beginning, get them to trust him so that later he may be able to influence their decision over which side to take. Even if that meant isolating them from the other houses--though he was hardly needed for that. It had long been that Hogwarts was effectively split into two camps: Slytherins and everyone else. He well remembered from his own years as a student that the Slytherins were almost universally loathed by the rest of the students. He couldn't deny that his own treatment of the other houses as a teacher was partly retribution for that, though he more often chose to explain it as his attempt to make them hardened to the struggles they would have to face later.

As he passed Eve's table, he took a careful look at her while appearing to be looking at the potion of the students sitting in front of her. She was meticulous, and was probably more accurate than most of the other students when it came to measuring out the ingredients, taking care that the meniscus of the nettle oil was precisely on the measuring line and that all her weights were accurate to the gram. But that was probably more because she had experience with those things from her Muggle Chemistry courses than because of any latent potions talent. And her potion appeared to be more of a leafy green colour than the dark emerald green that it should be. No, it looked that Miss Eve Berger, B.A., was as much of a dunce as his other students. He wasn't entirely sure whether that was a pleasure or a disappointment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next couple of weeks were rather rough for Eve, as she settled into a new routine, tried to remember the names of people in her classes and fitted tutoring time into her schedule with most of her teachers. In fact, by the start of the third week of classes, she had extra time scheduled with all of her teachers except for Snape and Madam Hooch. She was unlikely to have extra time with Hooch when they started flying lessons, as the course was only for first-years. But Snape was another story. While most of the professors had approached Eve fairly quickly about extra time, he had made no such move, and Eve was loath to approach him. She would have been nervous about going up to any of her teachers and making that request, but Snape particularly so. Potions was rapidly becoming the worst class in her week, merely due to the instructor. While the stories she'd heard about how he treated Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom were much worse than he treated her, he still seemed to be going out of his way to make her time at Hogwarts a difficult one.

It didn't help that after the first week of classes his mood had done a sharp downward swing. Apparently Neville Longbottom had made a boggart change into Professor Snape, the wearing Neville's grandmother's clothes. That tale had been the source of much laughter in the school, and Snape had definitely not appreciated the humour, becoming even more ascerbic, if that was indeed possible.

It was during the third week of classes that the notice about the start of flying lessons went up, and Eve looked at it with trepidation. They were scheduled to have it with the Ravenclaws on Wednesday mornings; right after Potions.

_Wonderful_, Eve thought, _Now I'll be able to look a right twit on a broom right after I look a right twit with a cauldron_. She remembered how nervous she'd been learning to drive, each outing an exercise in nerve as well as driving skills. She hated to fail at anything, and even more so, to have someone leaning over her shoulder, watching what she was doing. That plus the fact that she was now in sole control of a heavy, potentially dangerous (in certain hands) vehicle had made her a very nervous student driver. But once she'd got used to it, she loved to drive; it just took a while for her to get comfortable with doing it. 

She assumed it would be much the same with learning to fly. After all, being able to fly...well, that was something amazing, wasn't it? To actually be floating above the ground, like an insect or a bird... In some ways, she couldn't wait to actually do it.

But flying added another fear to the mix. Eve wasn't particularly fond of heights, particularly when she wasn't boxed in by a very secure railing. Floating fifty feet in mid-air, with one's legs wrapped around an inch-thick piece of wood...well, that was in the Things Humans Were Not Meant To Do category.

Despite this, Eve still found herself standing next to a broomstick on the Hogwarts grounds the next Wednesday morning. Madam Hooch watched all of the first years beadily, no doubt waiting for someone to try and show that they already knew how to fly--or thought they did. Now class, I want you to hold your hand over your brooms and say, Up!' firmly. Go ahead.

There was a nearly unified chorus of from the students, though few brooms actually rose at the command. Eve's lifted a little, then dropped back to the ground, as though it wasn't sure that it wanted to fly either. Eve tried to sound more firm with it on the next few tries, but her broom simply rolled about on the ground a little.

Getting mightily frustrated and not a little embarrassed, Eve barked, and finally the broom rose to her hand. She took a look around the class, glad to see that there were about ten or twelve others that were still attempting to get their brooms to rise.

Once everyone had their brooms hovering beside them, they were ordered to mount them and get a firm grip on the handle, while Hooch walked up and down the row, making sure they were properly positioned. Eve managed to mount her broom without looking too undignified and grasped her broomstick tightly.

Hooch gave the order to attempt to hover for a moment before touching back down and Eve gave a slight push off the ground. As if it finally had confidence in her, the broomstick obeyed and lifted slightly, pulling her feet about a foot off the ground. Eve couldn't believe it: she was airborne! She could feel a rush of adrenaline at the thrill of it, though inside she had to admit that she wouldn't like to go much higher than she was at the moment, or at least, not yet.

Touching down again after a moment was almost disappointing. She didn't want to have her feet firmly on the ground again. But once everyone had been able to hover once, Madam Hooch let them practice low-level, stationery hovering on their own for the rest of the class, keeping a sharp eye on them to make sure no one decided to take off. Eve spent more time hovering than she did on the ground, unable to resist swinging her feet a little, as though to reinforce the fact that they weren't touching anything.

Class ended all too soon, but Eve had to admit that it hadn't been as bad as she expected. In fact, she couldn't wait for the next lesson, even if she had to go through Potions class to get there.

With all her classes and extra tutoring the weeks flew by, September passing to October with dizzying speed. In early October, the whole school started to buzz with excitement about something called , when try-out notices were pinned up in the house common rooms. Eve had to endure yet another set of shocked stares from her housemates when she innocently asked what Quidditch was at dinner one evening. Apparently this was another thing that she was supposed to know about. Her question was greeted with the usual Greek Chorus of answers, as three of the first-years as well as Fred and George Weasley attempted to explain the game to her. It sounded interesting, if confusing. George assured her that it would seem much less puzzling when she actually saw a match. 

The first match was to be in November, Gryffindor against Slytherin, though there was some doubt about that, as the Slytherin Seeker, Draco Malfoy, had been injured in an accident with a rogue Hippogriff during the first week of term. It seemed to be common consensus amongst the students, however, that Malfoy was playing up his injury to try and get Hagrid in trouble. Eve hoped he wouldn't succeed. First years didn't take Care of Magical Creatures, but Hagrid was always nice to her when he ran into her on the grounds or in the halls. Besides, Malfoy was a jerk. She'd heard him make some snide comments about her as they passed each other in the hallway, though she found it hard to take offence at insults thrown by someone almost ten years her junior. She was embarrassed about being singled out, of course, but his comments lacked the power to hurt. Only the teachers and oldest students could do that.

As if Quidditch wasn't enough for people to talk about, the first Hogsmeade weekend was set for Halloween, and Eve was looking forward to the opportunity to get off the Hogwarts grounds for a while and explore the town nearby. She overheard excited conversations about the stores in Hogsmeade, and couldn't wait to visit Honeydukes' or the Three Broomsticks with the other students.

In the meantime, schoolwork was keeping her busy. Most nights after dinner she would retreat to her room to work, not joining the other Gryffindors in the common room. She found it too distracting down there, with all the laughing, arguing and chatting going on, and as she had no particular friends to see there she didn't bother going. Some of the students were friendly enough. Fred and George always made her laugh with their antics, and no one was outright hostile. But the age difference made things difficult. She really had nothing in common with the younger students, and the older ones already had their little groups of friends.

Sometimes, staring out her window late at night with Erik purring in her lap, she had to wonder if she had made the right decision to come to Hogwarts. Could there have been another way that she could learn to control her powers without having to spend her days in relative isolation, constantly wondering if she would ever improve enough for her teachers' satisfaction? She was doing pretty well in History of Magic, but in her other subjects she still found herself doing only about average. She'd always been able to do better than average, even in university. Was she really doing the right thing?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Halloween came, and everyone eligible was eagerly looking forward to the trip into Hogsmeade. After lunch, Eve joined the line of older students waiting to have their names ticked off by Filch, the castle caretaker, before heading out the main doors and down the path to the village. As they passed the Dementors at the gate, Eve shivered and quickened her step, trying to pass them as quickly as possible. Professor Lupin had explained the Dementors to her Defence Against the Dark Arts class, and mentioned that chocolate was the best remedy for their effects. Eve made a mental note to go to Honeydukes' first and buy something made of chocolate to soothe her slightly frazzled nerves.

The walk into the village took about fifteen or twenty minutes, everyone looking around at the fall colours. It was crisp and cool, a clear fall day.

Once they reached the High Street, Eve followed the largest crowd of students to Honeydukes, buying a couple Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills, popping a frog in her mouth before visiting any of the other shops. She went to the local stationer's first, picking up more parchment and ink (her extra assignments meant that her supply was running rather low), then headed to the bookshop, where she browsed for more than an hour. They had a display of magical murder mysteries written by a witch named Ann Paré, which the shop assistant madly enthused over when she saw Eve inspecting the back covers. Eve hadn't had a new fiction book in a while; all the reading she'd been doing of late were for her courses, or books about modern events in wizardry, so that she wouldn't have to ask her fellow students what they were talking about so much. She figured she could afford a small splurge, and picked up the first two books in the series.

She wandered around a few more of the shops, finding a yarn store just down from the bookshop, much to her delight. Another thing she hadn't been doing much of lately was knitting, and as she figured her grandmother would want a scarf in Gryffindor colours for Christmas, she selected some wool in the appropriate colours.

Her last stop was The Three Broomsticks, to take a load off her feet and try some of the Butterbeer that she'd heard so much about. From first taste she could see why people always mentioned it: it was steaming hot, sweet and absolutely delicious, warming her down to her toes for the walk back.

She arrived back just in time to drop off her purchases in her room before heading down to the Halloween feast. Eve gaped as she entered the hall, looking in awe at the floating, candle-lit jack-o'-lanterns drifting under orange streamers, with live bats ducking and swooping around them. The food was as plentiful and extravagant as at the Welcoming Feast, with hundreds of cakes and squares and tons of candy for pudding. The school ghosts did formation gliding to end the evening, and when she finally stood from the table, Eve felt that all she'd be able to do once she got to her room was flop in bed and go to sleep.

But as she neared the entrance to Gryffindor tower, she saw a sizeable crowd of students ahead, all staring at the portrait guarding the opening to the tower. As she neared it, she could see over the heads of the younger students what the hold-up was, and gasped.

The Fat Lady had fled, the canvas of her painting covered in long, violent slashes, pieces of canvas littering the floor.


	7. Dumbledore's Trust and Miss Berger's Reb...

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except  
for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I  
humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast,  
Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: And back to canon we go... Thanks to my latest reviewer, Abra, and to my patient beta, Joan (aka HyacinthMacaw)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 7: Dumbledore's Trust and Miss Berger's Rebellion**

Snape followed his fellow teachers to the staffroom after dinner, forced to walk slowly by the bloated waddling of the people in front of him. He would have liked to return to his dungeons, but Minerva McGonagall had been so vocal at the staff table about him being unsocial that he'd decided he should go with them, if only to shut her up for the next few weeks. Besides, he was intending to speak to McGonagall about their annual wager on their respective Quidditch teams; that is, if he could get her alone. 

He had just found himself a seat in a corner, well away from the tipsy giggling of McGonagall, Hooch and Vector, when there was a knock at the door. 

A head appeared in the doorway: one of the Gryffindor fifth-years, his face a pasty white. Snape immediately sat up and took notice. 

Professor McGonagall, you should go up to Gryffindor Tower, it's an emergency, the student said, voice quivering. 

Snape could see McGonagall immediately sober up and stand quickly. In an instant, Snape was at her heels, hurrying to Gryffindor Tower. Something was very wrong, and as unofficial third-in-command, he was damn well going to find out what it was. 

They arrived to find the sea of students parted for Dumbledore who was peering at a slashed portrait with concern. Snape's brows furrowed slightly at the sight. From the look of those cuts, this had been no prank. Someone had done that with a rather sharp knife, and from the wild nature of the cuts, had been very angry when they had done it. 

We've got to find her, Dumbledore was saying, as he turned to see McGonagall and Snape approaching. Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady. 

McGonagall stared at the damaged painting in horror for one moment, then turned to leave, but was stopped by a high-pitched voice above the crowd. 

You'll be lucky! it crowed, and Snape looked up. It was that odious little poltergeist, Peeves. He hated Peeves possibly more than the students did, as Peeves seemed to go out of his way to annoy the Potions Master. Perhaps, however, that was because Snape was a rather easy person to annoy. 

What do you mean, Peeves? Dumbledore said in a voice that Snape recognized, the one the Headmaster used when carefully controlling his anger or annoyance. 

Peeves seemed to realize this too and immediately went for the deferent approach. 

Ashamed, your Headship, sir, Peeves said happily, Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging through the trees. Crying something dreadful. Poor thing. He didn't even attempt to sound sincere in his sympathy. 

Did she say who did it? Dumbledore said, his voice even quieter this time. 

Peeves looked as though he particularly liked having a secret to impart, and obviously decided to drag out the suspense. Oh yes, Professorhead. He got very angry with her when she wouldn't let him in, you see. He flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from between his legs. Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black. 

Some of the students let out shrieks of terror, and McGonagall went white in the face. Even Snape reeled at the news. Black? He'd broken into Hogwarts? But..._how_? No one could get into Hogwarts who wasn't supposed to! Was it even possible that Black had been able to break through the wards guarding the castle? 

Dumbledore was the only one who at least appeared to not be flustered by this news, though Snape knew him well enough to see the signs of worry on the older man's face. Dumbledore's mouth had tightened and there was an odd rigidity to his face which was decidedly out of character. 

Turning to Percy, he said, Mr. Weasley, please escort the students back down to the Great Hall, then waited for the students to leave before addressing McGonagall and Snape. Minerva, please notify Professors Flitwick and Sprout that I would like them to bring their students to the Great Hall as well. Severus, take your own students down to the Great Hall and meet me there. We will have to organize a thorough search of the school. 

Snape nodded, then hurried down to the dungeons and the entrance to the Slytherin dorms. As he entered the common room, he saw that most of the students were still awake and in the room. Good, that would make things faster. The sound of talking died as every face turned to look at him in confusion. 

The Headmaster has ordered that all students should return to the Great Hall at once. If any of your friends have gone to their rooms already, please go and get them. If I or any of the other teachers find _any_ of you outside the Great Hall once the school has assembled there, you will automatically get three weeks' detention _from me_. Is that understood? 

The Slytherins blinked and nodded numbly. They weren't used to their Head of House being quite so cold to them--stern, yes, but not overly so. And even though he wasn't known to give such large detentions to his own house, something in his voice and expression told them that he wasn't bluffing. 

Within a few minutes, Snape was leading his students back to the Great Hall, his mind whirling, trying to figure out how Black might have gotten in--but then there was only one way, wasn't there? _Someone had let him in_.

Snape knew of only one person that might have done that, one person who may still trust Black, or who could have been on Black's side all along. He'd been on Black's side in that nearly-fatal prank so many years ago...why would subsequent events have changed that? 

Arriving at the Great Hall, Snape had to wait until the students had been settled in for the night before getting a chance to talk to Dumbledore, along with the other teachers and the school ghosts. 

I want all of you to help with a thorough search of the school. If Black is still inside Hogwarts, we need to find him. I don't need to mention that you should all be on your guard during the inspection. I want everyone to search in pairs, one pair to each floor. Severus, Minerva, you are both in charge of the search. If any of you find _anything_ out of the ordinary--anything at all--come and get Severus, Minerva or myself. If you do find Sirius Black, _do not_ approach him. Come and get one of us, and we will fetch the others. Hagrid, please monitor the front doors and entrance hall; doubtless the Dementors will be itching to get in the castle as soon as I tell them what has happened. Under no circumstances are they to enter the castle. If anyone finds that they have entered by another door, fetch me immediately. I will be in my office for a few hours after I tell the Dementors what has happened; the Ministry needs to be informed of this. After that I will be in the Great Hall. 

Snape and McGonagall organized everyone into search parties, instructing everyone to ask the portraits and other school ghosts whether they had seen anything, and to aid in the search. They also assigned a rota for teachers to check on the students once every hour. 

Snape purposely pairedwith Lupin and they set off for the third floor, wands at the ready. Every classroom, office, and broom closet was searched, every painting questioned as to whether they had seen anything suspicious, and asked to join in. Snape didn't say a word to Lupin as they searched, but watched him carefully. He was becoming more and more certain that Lupin had helped Black inside the castle. There was no one else inside the castle that could be in league with Sirius Black. However if Lupin knew he was under Snape's scrutiny, he certainly didn't show it. Snape had to marvel at the man's perfect composure and natural air of innocence. If he hadn't been the only suspect, Snape might have actually believed that Lupin knew nothing about how Black had entered the castle. 

By three in the morning, all the other teachers and staff had checked in with Snape and with McGonagall, who was searching the fourth floor. Everyone reported finding nothing but silence and stillness in the rest of the castle, and none had found any entrances tampered with. Black had to have help inside, Snape was sure of it, and Lupin was the only one he could imagine might have given that assistance. 

Snape made his way to the Headmaster's office but found it empty, and so turned and crept down to the Great Hall, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. Dumbledore was standing at one side of the room, slightly away from the clusters of sleeping bags, talking to Head Boy Percy Weasley. 

Snape whispered, approaching the pair, The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there, either. 

What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery? 

All searched. 

Very well, Severus, I didn't really expect Black to linger, the Headmaster sighed. 

Snape cast a glance at Weasley; the boy hadn't moved during the discussion, and instead was watching both of them with interest. Snape was loath to bring up his doubts in front of a student, but couldn't very well order Weasley away without looking suspicious. 

Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor? Snape said in a meaningful tone, trying to get his question across to Dumbledore without having to state it bluntly. 

Many, Severus, each as unlikely as the next. Either Dumbledore hadn't caught Snape's hint, or he was purposefully ignoring the implications. Snape wasn't sure which one it was. 

Frustration and anger were welling inside him as he made another attempt, speaking in a low voice so that Weasley couldn't hear what he was saying. You remember the conversation we had, just before, ah, the start of term? 

I do, Severus. Dumbledore's voice had changed, there was a warning in his tone. Snape disregarded it and pressed on, determined to make his point yet again. Perhaps this time Dumbledore could not be blind to the answer that was staring him in the face. 

It seems...almost impossible...that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed-- 

Dumbledore cut him off abruptly. I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it, he said sharply, indicating that he was not going to listen to Snape's argument again. Snape could feel his cheeks flushing with anger as he fought to hold his tongue. 

I must go down to the Dementors, Dumbledore continued, I said I would inform them when our search was complete. 

Didn't they want to help, sir? Weasley asked, looking up at Dumbledore with shocking naïveté, in Snape's opinion. 

Dumbledore's response was low and clipped. Oh yes. But I'm afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster. 

With that, Dumbledore strode silently out of the hall, while Snape watched him with badly hid resentment. He'd thought that Dumbledore trusted him, that he had earned that much in his years of service, his many sacrifices. But that trust still wasn't enough to overcome Dumbledore's innate prejudice in favour of Lupin. For the second time in his life, he doubted exactly how much Dumbledore had ever trusted him, how much faith the man really had in his reformed Death Eater, and whether the Headmaster would ever open his eyes and see his precious Gryffindors for what they were. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eve didn't sleep much that night, dropping off for intermittent, short periods, and spending easily as much time looking up at the night sky in the Great Hall ceiling as sleeping. Her insomnia was partly due to Black, but mostly because of the comings and goings of the teachers, as well as the discomfort of sleeping on a hard floor in her school clothes even with her warm, squashy sleeping bag. 

There were many fatigued, worried faces at breakfast the next morning, though Eve was too sleepy to really be able to pay attention to the conversations at the Gryffindor table. When they went up to Gryffindor tower to get their school books, they found that the Fat Lady's portrait had been replaced by one of a knight, Sir Cadogan, who was clearly off his rocker. Percy Weasley was the first to reach the tower entrance and Sir Cadogan challenged him to a duel, calling him a knave and refusing to let him enter until Professor McGonagall walked by and barked at Cadogan to tell them the password and let them in. 

They soon found that Sir Cadogan was more likely to change his passwords, making them the most obscure words and phrases he could think of; at least, obscure to those not familiar with Old English. The only thing one could do was ask for the password when they left the tower, or stand outside the portrait until someone came along that did know it. 

The week seemed to head directly downhill from Halloween. Despite the growing excitement over the coming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin (which, from the reports of the upper-level students, sounded like a grudge match at the very least), the worsening weather outside and the constant annoyances inside the castle were making this a veritable week from hell for her, coming to a head on Wednesday morning. 

Wednesday started out very badly. She woke with a stuffed nose and dry throat, the beginnings of a head cold lurking, after oversleeping her alarm. Eve had to shower and dress in a rush, running down to breakfast and completely forgetting to ask Sir Cadogan what the morning's password was until she was headed back up to the tower, alone and running to get to class on time. On the way there she was attacked by Peeves, who startled her so with a water balloon that she accidentally stepped on one of the trick steps and sank into it to above her knees. After some minutes of manoeuvring and cursing under her breath, she finally managed to extract herself from the step and made her way to Gryffindor tower where Sir Cadogan flatly refused to let her in. 

Eve looked at her watch--Potions would be starting in a minute or so and it would take her at least another five minutes to get her cauldron and rucksack and head down to the dungeon. 

Look, I've got the Gryffindor crest on my robes and I've got the scarlet-and-gold stripes on my jumper and tie. I'm a bloody Gryffindor, now let me in! she barked. 

Knave! Thou couldst have stolen those garments. You shall not gain entry to the tower, not if I have to fight you to drive you back! Sir Cadogan said, brandishing his sword until its weight made him tip over onto his back with a clank of his armour. 

But you saw me come out just ten minutes ago! 

Eve was cut off as the portrait opened and two of the second-years exited the tower. She held the portrait open as they hurried out. 

Forgot the password? It's maiden fair' this morning! one of them said quickly, and Eve called a thanks over her shoulder as she hurried through the hole, Sir Cadogan calling for her to stand and fight as the portrait swung shut. 

She ran as fast as she could down to Potions, scurrying through the door and to her usual seat in the back, knowing that it was unlikely Snape wouldn't notice her lateness but hoping all the same. 

Ten points from Gryffindor for your lateness, Miss Berger, Snape said coldly as she reached her seat. 

Eve made an attempt to explain but Snape cut her off. 

Continue in your attempt to make excuses and it will be twenty and a detention. Now sit down--you have disrupted this class enough. 

Eve clamped her jaws shut, face burning in anger, and had to keep from slamming her cauldron on the table with all the force she could muster. 

She copied down the instructions for the cleaning potion they'd been assigned in quiet fury, trying to keep her mind on what she was writing and not on her stuffy head or the mental image of her wringing Snape's scrawny neck. 

The class began preparing the potion, a low hum of whispers rising as Snape patrolled the room, hurling caustic comments at students as he strode past the desks and barking for silence every couple minutes. 

The final step in preparing the potion involved adding a small amount of dragon's blood, a few drops at a time with a pipette. Eve bit her lip and furrowed her brows in concentration as she prepared to add it to her (so far) recipe-accurate potion. The valve of the pipette required the smallest of turns to add the liquid drop-by-drop; too much of a turn and the valve would open, the liquid falling in a stream. Eve had used a pipette before, knew they needed a light touch, and was just about to open the valve when a voice from behind startled her. 

Having difficulties, Berger? Snape said. 

She hadn't even heard his approach, and in her surprise her hand shook, the valve opening to full cock before she could close it again. In an instant her potion turned from the proper, vibrant orange to a lurid purple. 

Snape made a sarcastic little noise which got right under her skin, irritating her to no end. Her hands were balled up into fists, trying to hold her anger in, fingers clenched so tight that she thought she'd break the glass phial she held in her hand. 

For all your education, can't you even make a simple potion, Berger? Snape said smoothly, obviously enjoying her mistake. 

It was one of the few times in her life where words came to her lips before she could think about what they were. She hadn't looked up at Snape since he'd appeared behind her, and she didn't look up now, but her voice was low and her words clipped with anger. 

Do you know why Britain no longer owns North America? For all _your_ education, don't you even know your own country's history? 

She looked up at him then, felt her cheeks burning, heard the blood pounding in her ears as adrenaline surged through her. She wasn't entirely sure what she had done; she'd broken through some sort of barrier--she never, _never_ lost her temper at someone, and certainly not a teacher--and suddenly decided that she no longer cared what Snape thought or did. That she didn't care what happened to her. Partly it was because she'd already put her foot in it--there was no way to take her words back now--and partly because she was just so fed up with the man that any respect for him which had cowed her before had vanished. 

Snape's face went white except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. His black eyes glittered furiously. Roughly seizing her arm, he hauled her out from behind her desk and shoved her forward. 

Berger--my office--NOW! 

She marched toward his office, hardly hearing him extinguish the fire under her cauldron or bark orders at the rest of the class. Her head felt oddly light, as though she was floating, buoyed by rage. She could hardly feel the pain of her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands and, surprisingly enough, she could feel her fear of Snape diminishing. She'd actually stood up to him once, and in that instant she had made her decision on the issue that had been bothering her for weeks...why not say everything she wanted to? 

She stared coldly at the door as he stormed in, slamming the door behind him and rounding on her with an absolutely livid expression, no doubt meant to have her knees knocking in fear. 

What on earth do you mean by speaking in that tone to me? Snape growled, spit flying from his mouth. 

What on earth do you mean by treating me like rubbish simply because I've spent the last eighteen years of my life preparing for a life in the _real_ world? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not all that much younger than you are, Snape. Maybe I don't know anything about potions, but do you know why this school is for Great Britain and not just England? Do you know how, fifty years ago, those stupid Muggles' managed to keep a madman from taking over Europe? I do. I probably have at least two-thirds the education you do, Snape, only in a completely different field! 

You're dangerously close to getting yourself expelled, Berger! 

She surprised both of them and laughed; a harsh, bitter laugh that seemed to erupt from some deep, unconscious area inside her. What, you think that matters to me now? Either I'm expelled or I leave on my own, because I do not have to put up with this sort of abuse! I can walk right out that door, back into the real world and get a job and an apartment, and live a perfectly normal life. I'm fully ready and well-prepared to do it. Are you? 

With that, she spun on her heel and throwing the classroom door open, stalked to her desk, grabbed her books and hurried out, deaf to Snape's bellows behind her. She had never done anything like that before, usually trying to suppress her anger until she was alone. That fact surprised her, really, because at the moment, it felt absolutely wonderful to let go. Some detached part of her mind thought that she'd regret it later, that she would no doubt be kicking herself for what she'd said, but at the moment her concerns seemed to have whisked away. 

Hurrying past puzzled-looking students, she made her way to Gryffindor Tower and her bedroom. Erik rubbed against her legs as she dumped her books on her bed and pulled out her drawers, beginning to pack all her belongings in her trunk for the trip home.


	8. Some Helpful Advice

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! 

A/N: Ooh, tension. :-) No real notes for this chapter, just enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 8: Some Helpful Advice**

As Eve stormed out of the Potions classroom, Snape walked into it, momentarily watching her slam the door behind her before registering the wide-eyed expressions all staring at him from the desks. 

Class is dismissed--clean your cauldrons and get out! Snape barked, and the class scurried to comply and escape his wrath. 

As soon as everyone had cleared out, Snape stormed out of the classroom himself, locking the door behind him. Paying little attention to those in his way, he brushed past cowering students as he stormed up to Dumbledore's office. To say he was angry would have been a gross understatement. He was beyond anger, beyond rage. He never--_never_--could have believed that a student would have the gall to be so...so insolent to him of all people! And to have it be an upstart, no-talent, know-it-all, _Gryffindor_...! 

Dumbledore looked only a little surprised to see Snape stalk in after a perfunctory knock. 

Is something wrong, Severus? Dumbledore said mildly. 

I demand that you expel--or at the very least suspend--Eve Berger at once! 

Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched upwards, annoying Snape to no end. The man hardly looked curious as to what he had to say! 

And why would that be? 

Because she shows absolutely no respect for authority! Snape launched into a somewhat biassed retelling of what had happened moments before. He paced as he spoke, eyes blazing, gesturing violently with his hands. 

So? What do you plan to do about it? Snape said, stopping in his pacing and placing his hands on the back of one of the winged chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk. 

Dumbledore held up one finger as a gesture for Snape to wait a moment. Walking over to his fireplace, Dumbledore removed some powder from a carved box on the mantle and threw it into the flames. 

he said to the fire, and within a moment McGonagall's head appeared in the flames. 

Yes, Headmaster? 

Would you please go and fetch Miss Berger to my office? I believe she is in her room at the moment. 

McGonagall looked puzzled by this request, but nodded and disappeared. 

Dumbledore walked back to his desk and sat down before answering Snape's question. 

Well first I plan to try and convince her not to leave, at least until the Christmas holidays. I then plan to try and find a way to make her want to stay beyond that time. 

Snape's jaw dropped, stunned for once. He actually spluttered, But--what about-- 

Let's put all concerns about personality aside, shall we? Can you imagine what might happen if she goes back out into the Muggle world? At this stage in her education, she will lose what little control over her powers she has, and every time she became upset or angry she would be a danger to herself and others. I believe you mentioned that at the meeting last summer? 

Snape gritted his teeth, not sure if he was angrier at Dumbledore for taking her side in this or for throwing his own words back in his face. 

Futhermore, there are others in this world who would be more than willing to instruct her in return for her allegiance. Now while I don't believe that she would do that, if she leaves this school with her heart hardened against us, that scenario becomes a more likely possibility. And if she was approached with that offer and she refused... He let the conclusion dangle in the air between them. When Dumbledore spoke again, his tone was light, casual, but there was steel in those blue eyes. Remember yourself at that age, Severus? 

Certainly Snape remembered. Bitter, angry at his parents, his teachers, at the whole world, feeling that he was an outsider, that his talents were going to waste... 

_And look where it led you..._ a small voice said in his head. That was no doubt the point Dumbledore was trying to make. 

But what do you plan to do about her blatant disrespect-- 

None of her other teachers have reported any apparent personality problems. By their reports, she seems rather quiet and studious. I plan to ask you to give her some respect, Severus. I have never quarrelled with your teaching methods, and still do not plan to. I merely wish to point out that she is not a typical student, and that you may have to try a slightly different tactic with her. She will respect you if you at least outwardly seem to have a little respect for her. I'm not asking you to favour her or go easy on her by any means. But she _is_ an adult, and more sensible than some her age. You only have to treat her like one. 

There was a sharp knock on the door and Dumbledore called for McGonagall and Eve to come in. Eve was obviously still furious, her face hard as stone, back ramrod straight. Dumbledore gestured to the other chair and she sat stiffly, not even glancing at Snape. 

You may go, Professor McGonagall, I will discuss matters with you later. McGonagall gave a quick nod and left. Now, Miss Berger, Professor Snape has informed me of your discussion earlier, including your expression of an intention to leave Hogwarts. Might I ask why? 

Because I am tired of being treated like a child and having my lack of magical knowledge thrown in my face. 

Have your other teachers done this as well? 

Occasionally, but only in hints or glances. Professor Snape is the only one who was ever obvious about it, or-- She bit her lip. 

She paused as though considering her words, though she didn't break eye contact with Dumbledore. 

Or who seemed to take some enjoyment in doing so. 

Snape was about to protest but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him. 

What if I asked you to delay your departure until Christmas holidays, on the assurance that your concerns will be dealt with? 

Her eyes flickered upward as she weighed the offer. After a moment she looked back at Dumbledore, that same determination in her face. 

In that case I'll wait until then to make a final decision. 

Dumbledore said, nodding seriously. "Please wait in the hall for a few minutes; I would like to talk with you privately as soon as Professor Snape and I have finished. 

Thank you, sir, she said, and quietly left the room. She hadn't looked at Snape for even a second the entire time. 

Aren't you going to say anything to her? She-- Snape said as soon as the door had closed. 

I will deal with her in a moment, Severus, Dumbledore interjected, At the moment I am more concerned with you. I notice that you have still not scheduled any extra tutoring time with her. 

I haven't seen her do well enough to deserve advancement beyond her class, Snape replied stiffly. 

Then she would probably benefit from some extra help. I believe you both have Friday afternoons off? Dumbledore's tone indicated that that hadn't been a question, and that the interview was over. Snape rose to leave. 

Dumbledore called as Snape was about to open the door, At least make an attempt to be somewhat civil with Miss Berger. You will regret it if you are the one who drives her away. Dumbledore stared at him with one of his intense, meaningful stares, then turned back to the papers on his desk. 

Snape wrenched the door open, glancing over at where Eve was staring at the wall opposite, before turning and storming down the hall, spitting on the floor. He hated it when Dumbledore seemed to know more than he was willing to tell. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eve knocked on the office door as Snape stormed away, and entered at Dumbledore's call of Come in! 

Dumbledore stood as she walked in again, smiling kindly as he stepped out from behind his desk. I think we would be more comfortable in my parlour. Please, follow me. 

Eve followed as Dumbledore led her into a small sitting-room. Like Dumbledore's office, it was cluttered, this time with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a chaise, numerous small tables and two fat, winged armchairs set in front of a roaring fire. 

Please, make yourself comfortable, Dumbledore said, and Eve sat in one of the armchairs. Still very angry and defensive, she tried to sit straight-backed in the chair, but its softness wouldn't let her, so she finally gave up and leaned back slightly. 

Dumbledore seated himself in the other chair, resting his elbows on its arms in a relaxed manner. 

Would you like to tell me about what happened this morning? he asked, calmly and kindly. 

Eve wasn't exactly sure how much to say. Somehow she doubted that, as Headmaster, he'd take very kindly to any criticism of his teachers. However, he hadn't made any mention of punishment when he'd called her in his office in front of Snape, and she sincerely doubted that Snape had told Dumbledore the bare-bones truth of what had been said. Keeping her eyes on the fire, Eve went through the morning, mentioning the annoyances she'd had before Potions class, as well as everything that she and Snape said as best she could recall it, and with only a little embellishment and partiality. 

When she finished explaining how McGonagall had fetched her in the middle of packing, Dumbledore remained silent for a minute, making Eve more nervous than she already was. Finally, in a quiet, calm voice, he asked, Why do you think that Professor Snape's comment about your former education was the one that made you lash out? 

Eve looked up at him momentarily, but could see nothing but pensiveness in those blue eyes. She swallowed, looking back at the fire. Did she really want to tell him what she'd been thinking for all those weeks? Pour out everything to him? But then, what option did she have? If she wanted him to sympathize, to help things, she had to tell him. Besides, she felt she could trust him, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe because he hadn't just expelled her as soon as Snape had told him about their argument, because he'd actually asked for her side of the story and then really listened to what she had to say. 

Probably because what he said is the same thing I've been saying to myself, she said, in a soft voice. Dumbledore didn't say anything, and she assumed it was a hint to continue. Ever since I got here...I've seen that this magic ability of mine means that my future will have changed permanently. I mean, I can't really go back to working in a museum like I used to. This ability means that I have to do something with it...like having any other great ability that could help people. You can't just have a gift like this handed to you and not use it. But this means that, well...everything I've done, everything I've worked for...all my work in secondary school and university...it doesn't have any use, now. All the plans I've made, everything I've been working towards has completely disappeared. My university diploma, something I've been rather proud of, something I worked hard for, has absolutely no value in this world; it's just a piece of paper. All that work I did to get my degree means nothing to anyone here, because it's something completely useless and foreign to this world. Not only that, I don't know anything about the world I'm now in. I know even less than someone half my age with magic parents! And I certainly don't need to have that pointed out to me. 

Eve glanced over at Dumbledore and saw him nodding thoughtfully. Lightly stroking his beard, he said, You mentioned some of the other teachers occasionally treating you...unfairly as well? 

Well...sometimes some of the other teachers talk down to me, like I don't know _anything_, not just about magic. But at the same time they sometimes seem to expect me to do better than some of my classmates because I'm older, which really just emphasizes the point that I _don't_ know anything about magic. 

Dumbledore paused when she'd finished, staring into the fire before saying, softly, Eve, I'd like you to consider two things, one for each of your problems. The first is that you should take a moment to see things from your teachers' point of view. They're used to teaching children and teenagers, they have developed ways of teaching those age groups which have become second-nature to them. Having an adult in a first-year class can't be easy for them--they're trying to teach the class as they usually do, but then they have one student in the class who is a little too mature for those tactics. They're trying to teach both ways, which isn't easy. I think you should look at the way your teachers treat you during your tutoring sessions. Do they still treat you like a child when you are working together one-on-one? 

Eve thought about it. Actually, when she was working alone with her teachers, the relationship between the two of them was more like those when she'd discussed class work with her university professors--slightly more equal. She hadn't really paid attention to the difference between her classes and tutorials before. 

The second thing I want you think about is this: you have learned so much more in your life than just what you studied in school. You were raised to adulthood as a Muggle, and because of that, you have some understanding of how Muggles think, why they do what they do and believe what they believe. That is, unfortunately, not a common ability among wizards. Most never bother to wonder why people act as they do, and many believe that Muggle psychology is not worth knowing. To them, it would be the same as a Muggle wondering how dogs think. But what very few of them realize is that the same things that drive Muggles to act as they do are the same for wizards. Magi and Muggles differ only in their ability to do magic, both are members of _Homo Sapiens_. _Homo Sapiens-Magi_ can be just as greedy, selfish, prejudiced and mean as some Muggles are, and Muggles can be just as kind, generous, courageous and wise as some witches and wizards. Because of that similarity, magical history has parallels to Muggle history, and the two are often interconnected. You have been doing some reading about recent magical history, I know, surely you can see parallels between Lord Voldemort's reign and events in Muggle history and literature? 

Eve wasn't sure if she was more surprised at Dumbledore's knowledge of what she'd been reading, or about his using You-Know-Who's real name. It was the first time she'd ever heard someone actually say it aloud. Most of the students, and even the teachers, seemed too frightened of him to dare say the name. 

Now, before I send you back to class, was there anything else--anything not connected with this incident--that you wanted to discuss? 

Eve paused. Her instincts said , but there was something that had been troubling her off and on for weeks. Ever since the Sorting, really. But would she just sound neurotic if she actually said it? It wouldn't hurt, really, just to mention it. She gulped. Well, there was one other thing. 

Dumbledore's face was neutral, hard to make out. 

Well...it's just I'm not really sure that...I really...belong in Gryffindor. I mean, the Sorting Hat said it found courage in me, but I really doubt I'm the brave type. I mean, I'm not sure I'd ever have the courage to anything really brave, like jump into a raging river or something. I don't know, I've always considered myself the more brainy or loyal type, really. 

Dumbledore smiled kindly, and Eve got the feeling he'd heard these same doubts before. 

There are all kinds of bravery, Miss Berger, he said softly. There was a slight pause before he added, smiling slightly, "You did just argue with one of the more...formidable teachers at this school."

"That sounds more like stupidity to me," Eve said, responding with a small smile of her own.

That too. Now," Dumbledore switched to a more businesslike tone, "I believe your class is in the library due to the inclement weather; I'll write you an excuse slip. Dumbledore conjured up a quill and piece of parchment, and scribbled on it briefly before handing it to her. Also, I'd like to talk with you every couple weeks, just to see how you're getting along. Would every other Thursday, first period suit you? Good. If there is anything greatly troubling you, please come and see me as soon as you can. I will always make time for a student. Don't let things get out of hand again, before coming to see me about them. He fixed her with a sharp stare, and Eve felt a small rush of guilt. And Professor Snape mentioned giving you some tutoring time on Friday afternoons. I would also suggest that if you have a problem you want to discuss with him, that you do it at that time, _not_ in front of your classmates. I'll see you two weeks from tomorrow, then. 

Eve made her exit, and hurried down to the library, clutching the note tightly in her hand. As she ran, she had to think that Dumbledore certainly had a way of telling you you'd done something wrong without saying those exact words. She wasn't sure whether she liked his way better or not.


	9. The Muggle Book

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! _The Shepherd_ belongs to Frederick Forsythe and its publishers--don't have a copy on me at the moment.

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers, especially the the gang on the Snapefic Liberation Front mailing list! Just search for "Snapefic_LibFront" over on Yahoo Groups (sorry, FFN doesn't like URLs, apparently).

As you can probably tell, this chapter reveals where I got the title for this fic from. My story will bear no resemblance to Forsythe's, but the title just seemed...perfect, so I used it. Read the story! It's really well-done, particularly considering he uses a somewhat familiar plot device.

And for those that are interested, I wrote a lot of the latter part of this chapter with both the Thomas Moore version and the Cambridge Singers version of the carol "In the Bleak Midwinter", and Loreena McKennitt's "In Praise of Christmas" in the background. Yes, I know it's April, not December. :-)

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~  
**Chapter 9: The Muggle Book**

Though in some ways she hadn't really expected to see a change in the teachers--she was too used to the onus for resolutions of student/teacher problems being placed solely on the student--she did see something of a change in the following weeks. She did try to take Dumbledore's advice and not get her hackles up when a teacher either talked down to her or seemed to expect too much, but she noticed as well that the teachers seemed to be trying not to do that as often. And she had to admit, Dumbeldore had been right; her professors _did_ talk to her as an adult in her tutorials.

She was also glad to see that she was receiving more practical instruction in some of her tutorials. Actually doing something was always so much more interesting than answering questions from her reading. Lupin had her trying some actual defence spells, spending much of their time together in the next couple weeks working on "Expelliarmus". It was difficult to do right; with the proper amount of concentration one gained the opponent's wand, and the upper hand in a fight. If you were too panicky, or not concentrating, the spell went wild, knocking the other person off their feet, their wand flying anywhere. While the less precise version had its benefits, she still had to try and perform the spell properly, if only to spare Lupin some unnecessary bruising. Sprout had her spending more time potting, caring for, and preparing plants, rather than the theory and general care that she had been doing. Despite the fact that it meant getting caked in mud by the end of her tutorial, it was much more interesting to actually make something grow than to read about it all the time. 

Possibly more surprising than the change in her other teachers was McGonagall's slight change in attitude toward her. While still managing to be somewhat stern most of the time, she did occasinally show some mothering tendencies, particularly when Eve's stuffy sinuses turned into a full-blown bout of the flu the day after her blow-up with Snape. McGonagall was the one who noticed that Eve was looking a little under the weather and bustled her off to Madam Pomfrey, and who managed to persuade the matron to let Eve sleep the virus off in her room, instead of the hospital wing. She sometimes took a couple minutes of tutorial time just to chat, and Eve had to wonder if Dumbledore had asked McGonagall to be a bit of a female confidante as well, for things that she might not be comfortable talking to Dumbledore about, which actually weren't many. 

In the two meetings she had with Dumbledore before the Christmas holidays, Eve found herself relaxing a little more when she talked to the Headmaster. Dumbledore had a knack for getting to how things were going for her without directly asking, and making her feel that she could give him an honest answer. He would talk about other things as well: the reading she was doing, her interests, trivial things. Actually, she began looking forward to their talks. She still didn't feel all that comfortable with most of her housemates, so while there remained a kind of teacher/student definition to her relationship with Dumbledore and McGonagall, they were still two people at Hogwarts that she felt she could confide in. 

It was mainly the interaction between her and those two people that made her decide to stay, well before the end of term. Besides, she had to admit that she'd be a bit of an idiot to go running off in a huff without learning how to do magic--it was certainly something she would have kicked herself for later. 

Snape, of course, was a completely different story from her other teachers. Her tutorials with Snape started as soon as she was feeling well enough to go back to classes, the week after their argument. She could have sworn that the temperature in the dungeons--already considerably lower than in the rest of the school--dropped considerably during every tutorial. They were both exceedingly stiff with each other, speaking in clipped sentences containing the bare minimum amount of content that they could get away with. Snape usually refrained from making any cutting remarks both in classes and tutorials, though his facial expressions were usually sufficient to express what he was thinking. 

For his part, Snape had to admit that she was making some progress. As he had noticed before, her familiarity with some of the equipment they used was an asset, and seemed to make it a little less likely that she would make a serious error. Her essays were also more readable than her classmates', but that was hardly surprising. She would have had to develop an ability to write clear, concise essays for university. 

Still, her few advantages over her classmates didn't mean that she was a perfect potion brewer. She had a few less failures than the others, but her potions did fail at times. At least when they did turn out wrong she looked about as annoyed with herself as Snape was with her, though he couldn't be sure whether it was due to her perfectionist tendencies or a desire to show him up. 

Probably the one thing that managed to cheer him (though it did little to outwardly improve his usually dour mood) was that Gryffindor lost its first Quidditch match, which had been against Hufflepuff due to Malfoy's "injury". Even if it was really only because the Dementors caused Potter to fall off his broom from fifty feet in the air, it was still a loss, and lessened Gryffindor's chances of taking the Quidditch Cup from Slytherin this year. As Snape and McGonagall traditionally had a strong rivalry over their house Quidditch teams, he was glad for the chance to rub a little salt into McGonagall's wounds when she was being particularly annoying. Most of the time he and Minerva got along quite well--as well as he got on with anyone, that is--but there were occasions where they couldn't resist needling each other. He was quite glad to have this new development for ammunition. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a chill, damp November, the sky finally lightened in early December, when the inhabitants of Hogwarts woke one morning to find a delicate frost on the grounds. The castle began to buzz with the promise of Christmas, teachers and students alike longing for the holidays. 

The sign-up lists for those wishing to remain at the school for the holidays went up the first week of December, and Eve reluctantly put her name down. She wanted to head home for Christmas, but her teachers had piled on a great deal of homework for the holidays, and she would likely need to use the library's resources to do much of it. If there was any way she could go home for part of the holiday she would have, but she knew of no other way to get to Hogwarts than the train, and so she either had to stay for the entire vacation, or none of it. She would just have to forego Christmas at home this year, though the promise of seeing what Hogwarts was like on Christmas wasn't much of a trade-off. She owled her parents to let them know she wouldn't be coming home, and they sent their regrets, though they would be making the best of the situation by heading somewhere a little warmer for Christmas, in that case. 

She did have a few things to look forward to, however. Though she did have an armload of homework, she would have some time to herself, time for loafing around and sleeping in. There was also a Hogsmeade visit just before term ended, as well as the promise of free time where she could head into the village on her own. 

She headed into Hogsmeade wrapped up in her cloak and Gryffindor scarf, walking quickly through the gently falling snow with the other students. After doing a little last-minute Christmas shopping for her parents and picking up a couple catnip toys for Erik she headed into the Three Broomsticks and curled up at a small table with a book and a tankard of Butterbeer, spending as much time looking around at the assortment of patrons as well as the swirling snow outside the mullioned windows. There was a few minutes of excitement when Hagrid started bellowing about something during a conversation with McGonagall, Flitwick and some puffed-up-looking man in a pinstriped cloak, but as she wasn't close enough to hear their conversation, Eve turned back to her book. 

Everyone was chilled through when they got back to the castle, and they eagerly tucked in to hot chicken stew and bread still warm from the ovens before heading back to their common-rooms. Eve stayed for a little of the end-of-term festivities, but soon climbed up to her tower room, after the Weasley twins set off a few Dungbombs. She was knackered after the busy day, and only wanted to wrap herself in her duvet and curl up on one of the widow-seats in her room, watching the snow fall outside with a book in her hand and Erik purring in her lap. 

Eve woke early the next morning but stayed in her room until nearly lunchtime. She didn't want to see the other students heading home in high sprits, wishing each other a Merry Christmas, in case it made her more homesick than she already was. When she finally did come down, Gryffindor tower was nearly silent, the only other students staying over the holidays being the "Terrible Trio": Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. 

Outside, the grounds were covered in a thick layer of snow, and after lunch Eve donned her cloak, boots and scarf, and headed outside for a walk on the grounds. She was used to Christmases near London, which didn't often include much snow. She loved the sound of it crunching underneath her boots, loved watching it fall in soft clumps from the grey sky. It just made things seem so...magical. Spirits buoyed by the beauty of the landscape and castle covered in snow, she walked over to the lake, which was rimmed with ice; past the Forbidden Forest, which she stayed well away from, along with the Whomping Willow; and past the Quidditch pitch before looping back to the school. 

It was slightly eerie, walking through the halls or sitting in the common room and not seeing or hearing anyone else. She settled into the fireplace alcove--a small seating area within the fireplace itself--with an Ann Paré mystery novel and read all afternoon, joining the few students and teachers that remained at the school in the Dining Hall at dinner. It felt odd, sitting at the near-empty Gryffindor table, the Great Hall echoing with the discussions of the teachers, who had all moved in towards the middle of the high table to talk. Though she did notice that there was one teacher who wasn't doing much talking. While McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick were chattering on to each other, Snape seemed to be ignoring the conversation every time Eve glanced up at the teachers' table. 

She turned back to her plate and finished eating while she jotted down notes on a piece of parchment for her Potions essay. Once dinner was over, she continued her note-taking in the common room before finally heading up to bed. 

Most of her days leading up to Christmas were pretty much the same, a little time for her own pursuits, a little for work, mostly spending time by herself, though McGonagall occasionally took time to chat with her for a little while, and even Hermione did on a couple occasions when she wasn't with Harry and Ron. For the most part, however, she spent her time alone, with Erik or a book for company. She went for a walk around the grounds almost everyday, sometimes taking a stroll around the castle as well, Erik trotting along at her heels or leaning against her shoulder. She had to admit that the castle felt rather cosy--even homey, at times--with all the beautiful Christmas decorations: the swags of evergreens and holly that adorned every archway and staircase; the tiny, glowing fairies that twinkled in the twelve giant Christmas trees in the Great Hall. She couldn't wander too much, as Filch was liable to find her and demand what she was up to, but if she mainly stuck to the corridors that she was used to walking in between classes, then she wasn't likely to get in any trouble, and wasn't likely to get lost. She had figured out how to get to all her classes by October, and afterwards didn't stray from her usual routes; with the way the castle was laid out and the way the stairs and rooms tended to move around, one could get lost very quickly. 

The only problem with wandering the halls was the fact that most of the suits of armour in the castle were charmed to sing Christmas carols when someone approached, and every time she heard one singing "O Holy Night", or "O Come All Ye Faithful", she felt a pang of homesickness. She'd lived on her own for years, but she had always gone home for Christmas, and she loved the family traditions of the holiday. Cutting down the tree with her father, decorating it, doing the Christmas baking with her mother...it wasn't really the day itself that she looked forward to, but the season, and the small, shared moments of it. And as the days crept closer and closer to the 25th, she found herself missing those moments and the people she shared them with most of all. 

Snape welcomed the holiday, the respite from teaching allowing him some time to finish up some marking and do a little experimenting in the empty dungeon. Potter and friends were off making mischief somewhere else in the castle, and Snape was more than willing to leave them to Filch for the time being. 

The break from teaching was the only thing he enjoyed about Christmas, really. It had never held much excitement for him, even when he was younger. His parents had put on a big show of having a "proper" Christmas when he'd come home from school for the holiday, but that was exactly what it was: show. They decorated the house so that the neighbours would turn their heads to look at it as they went by, had the large, perfectly-decorated Christmas tree that looked like something out of a decorating magazine, and had the family dinner on Christmas Day, simply so they could boast about it to their friends. In his mid-teens he had just decided to stay at the castle for the holidays, where he could show his real opinion of the holiday and not have to live up to his role of "perfect child", where he could scowl all he wanted and not get punished for it. At home, it had all the appearance of Christmas but none of the spirit, and so Snape had never regarded the holiday as much more than time off school and an excuse to get a few things he didn't particularly want. His parents usually bought him almost anything he wanted anyway, so Christmas was not all that different from the rest of the year, and that belief had stuck with him into adulthood. 

However, he couldn't completely hide in his dungeons, no matter how much he would have liked to. Every year the staff remaining over the holidays had a small celebration on Christmas Eve with desserts and a little too much eggnog. At least this Christmas there could be no chance of a repeat performance of the year before when Hooch and Sinistra had started singing Christmas carols with the kind of lyrics that one expected to hear from Peeves, as they were both off to visit relatives for the holidays. Though for ninety-nine percent of the year the teachers were staid and respectable, some did let themselves go a little on the special occasions, particularly those where there were no students around to see the after-effects. 

And Snape wasn't much of a party sort of person. He liked the teachers well enough when they were at dinner or sitting in the staff room, though he sometimes didn't give that impression with his stony silence. He just didn't like the noise of a party, the constant entreaties to "join the fun". If he wanted to join in, he'd bloody well do it on his own; their nagging him about it only make him less likely to do so. 

Snape turned up at the staffroom a good twenty minutes after the party had begun, holding to his philosophy of arriving late and leaving early. He grabbed a few things from the buffet table, then retreated to a corner of the room where he could be seen, but was unlikely to be disturbed. Dumbledore was always insistent on his turning up at these things, so he made sure that his presence was noticed, then retreated back to his dungeons. 

This year was no different. By an hour into the "celebrations" the sound level of chatter had just edged into the "racket" category (quite a feat with only six teachers present, but then Hagrid usually made up for three people on his own), and a couple of his colleagues seemed to be laughing a little more than was actually necessary. Dumbledore had glanced over his way a few times, so he could finally make an exit and head back to his latest experiment. 

He edged out of the staffroom into the Entrance Hall and hurried down into the dungeons, checking his watch as he went. The Dreamless Sleep potion he was working on had been bubbling away for an hour--that should be enough to allow him to add the next two ingredients. After that, two more hours of simmering and it should be done. 

This was the fruit of some months' careful research, an improvement on the older concoction. The problem was that not only did the existing potion taste absolutely awful, but it had a physically addictive property, not just a psychological one. It also meant that those who used it often enough eventually needed progressively larger doses to get the same effect, as he well knew. 

This recipe would hopefully remove at least the physically addictive effects, and prevent desensitization to the potion. If he'd done it right, he should have a good sleep that night; if not, he'd know what the effects were and be able to tinker with the recipe a little more. 

He reached his office, where the potion was burbling away, and after giving it a gentle, tentative stir, he added the pre-measured, two final ingredients. He stirred the concoction, letting the new ingredients incorporate before checking his watch again and making an entry in his overly thorough notes. 

Two hours before he would know whether it worked or not. Two hours to fritter away. He had a pile of marking to do, but didn't feel much like ploughing through clumsily-worded and ill-argued essays. Instead, he settled for prowling the school, his second-favourite pastime. Besides, one never knew what Potter and his friends would get up to, with most of the school gone. 

He made his way to the fourth floor before he finally stilled a moment in his prowling. He had just turned to hex a suit of armour which had decided to serenade him with "Good Christian Men Rejoice", when something caught his eye, sitting on a window-ledge to his right. A brief pause to silence the armour, then he walked over to the ledge. 

The windows in this part of the fourth floor were set deep in the walls, providing a low ledge just the right size for a window-seat, if one didn't mind sitting on bare, cold stone. On this particular ledge sat a book; a small one, different from most others one usually found around the castle. Wizarding books tended to be rather heavy and impressively bound. This was a very thin, hardback book, with a brightly coloured dust jacket. 

Snape picked it up, examining it through the light that streamed in the window from the full moon. He noticed the light and briefly made a mental note to see if Lupin wanted any more of the wolfsbane potion the next day, before concentrating on the book in his hands. 

_The Shepherd, by Frederick Forsythe_, the cover read, above a drawing of a Muggle aeroplane flying over a darkened countryside. He opened the book, wondering if the book's owner had had the presence of mind to write their name on the fly-leaf. They hadn't, but there was an inscription inside. 

_To Eve,   
From Mum & Dad   
Christmas 1990.   
May you always be your own shepherd,   
or find one to guide you home._

The book was Eve Berger's, then. Snape checked his watch again; he had at least an hour until the potion would be ready. With nothing else to do, and curious what kind of books she read (he had long known that you could tell quite a bit about a person by what books they treasured), he seated himself on the window ledge and began to read. 

Glossing over any Muggle contraptions or expressions he didn't understand--or deducing a general idea of their use from the context--he went through the book rather quickly. It was hardly a book, really, more of a short story. A pilot heading home to England loses all electric-powered instruments on a foggy Christmas Eve, and just when things are looking their most dire, he is guided down to a near-abandoned airstrip by someone in an older plane, a "Shepherd". Only after landing and thinking of a number of other explanations, does he find out that his shepherd disappeared on Christmas Eve years before, on a routine patrol for lost pilots needing a helping hand. Trite, clichéd, a staple of ghost stories, but it was at least well-written and somewhat interesting. It took only half an hour to read, and Snape was about to replace it on the window ledge and start making his way down to the dungeons when he heard a sound in the connecting passage; a muffled footfall. 

Snape jumped up from his seat and ducked into the shadow of the suit of armour on the opposite wall, peering around the breastplate to see who was coming round the corner. Someone walking around at this time of night when most of the school was gone seemed suspicious enough, but considering it also sounded like they were trying to creep through the school without drawing attention... 

A short, rounded shape, silhouetted by moonlight coming in one of the windows further down the corridor, turned the corner and walked quickly over to the window ledge where Snape had been sitting, slipper-shod feet lightly scraping against the stone flags. It was Eve Berger, her school robe thrown over pyjamas. As he watched, she glanced at the window ledge, then began studying the floor around the window, looking for something. 

Snape realized that he was still holding her book, and didn't even need to consciously deduce that that was what she was looking for. He took a small step out of the shadows, and said sharply, "It seems rather late for you to be prowling the halls, Miss Berger." 

She jumped at the suddenness of his voice and turned around, a cold expression settling on her features after a momentary look of surprise. 

"It's only ten-thirty, well within my curfew. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm looking for something," she said, and was about to leave when Snape stepped a little further forward, and held out the book. 

"Would this be what you were looking for?" 

"Yes, thank you," Eve said stiffly, reaching out to take the book from him. 

He pulled it back until it was slightly out of her reach from where she stood. He wasn't willing to give it up that easily. 

"What were you doing, reading here and not in your common room?" he asked, suspiciously. God, from Filch's mention earlier of her wandering the castle, she was becoming more nosy than Potter, Weasley and Granger. 

"I wanted a change of scenery. The moon is on this side of the castle tonight, and I wanted to see the lake," she said innocently, and not breaking eye contact, "Now may I have my book? It's freezing in this corridor." 

He placed it in her hands with a sarcasm-laden "Merry Christmas", and had turned to leave when he heard her voice behind him again. 

"Merry Christmas, Professor." 

Snape didn't turn around, just continued in his long strides back down to the dungeons. Doubtless the seasonal greeting was simply a formality, so there was no need to acknowledge it. It wasn't like he gave it any significance, and they were two words so easily parted with. What was that curmudgeonly response he'd heard ages ago, from some Muggle author? 

"Bah, humbug," Snape muttered to himself as he passed the staffroom door and hurried back down to the sanctuary of his dungeons.


	10. Simple Gifts

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: As usual, thanks ever to my beta, Joan, aka "Hyacinth Macaw". Four years of insanity and still going strong, eh Jo? :-)

Also, the soundtrack for this chapter is Mannheim Steamroller's "Silent Night" and "O Holy Night", "Ice Dance" from Edward Scissorhands and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Christmas Canon"--mainly used those for the Christmas morning bits. Rather ironic considering spring weather is finally upon us, and I think I have a sunburn already.

Again, the mental image I had of the cracker-pulling scene was inspired by one of Nasubionna's works, at www.nasubionna.net. Her depiction of Snape's expression in this scene is priceless!

Oh, and something I forgot to mention in past chapters--the name of the wizarding murder mystery author Eve likes is a reference to a Muggle mystery author. Ten points to the house of whoever can tell me the real author. (Except you, Jo--that would be cheating! :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~   
**Chapter 10: Simple Gifts**

Eve woke uncharacteristically early the next morning, consciousness resurfacing just moments before her alarm clock went off. She groped blindly for it for a moment before she finally grabbed it and stopped the shrill ringing before it could wake up the rest of the house.

Erik rolled over on her bed, his steady purring pausing only for a moment before he was well and truly asleep again. He'd woken her a few hours earlier when he'd returned from his late-night prowling around Gryffindor Tower. However, it wasn't until the moment she put on her glasses that she realized he'd brought her a Christmas present, thoughtfully dropped next to her pillow.

"Eurgh!" Eve sat straight up, recoiling from the tiny rodent corpse that had been dropped on her duvet. The action had woken Erik, and he stood, stretching with feline grace before seating himself next to his prize. The expression on his face made it clear that he expected her to go into raptures about his catch.

"Ugh. Next time why don't you just eat it?" Eve picked up the mouse by its tail and, holding it away from her as if she expected it to attack, walked over to the window and dropped it outside, making a brief check that Filch wasn't walking around below. Not that she would have minded it landing on him, but she didn't want to spend Christmas Day being yelled at by Filch.

She turned back to her bed, and only then noticed that there were presents heaped at the end of it. Wondering for a moment how they'd got there, she walked back over and looked at the tags, feeling a small pang of homesickness. She pushed the thought of Christmases with her family out of her mind, however, and after a moment's deliberation, scooped the parcels into the basket she kept her knitting in and stepped out into the corridor. Listening for a moment outside her door to make sure she hadn't woken Hermione, she walked down to the common room, taking care not to make any further noise. Erik followed closely at her heels and settled into her lap as she sat in one of the armchairs by the Christmas tree. The lights on the tree had lit themselves as she'd entered the room and a low fire started in the fireplace, but other than that, the room was dark and silent.

This was a little tradition she had; always the first to wake on Christmas morning, she'd tiptoe downstairs and turn on the tree lights, sitting in their yellow glow and opening her stocking while she waited for everyone else to rise.

She sat in front of the tree for a few minutes before turning to the parcels, and began to open them. Her surviving grandparents had sent two warm jumpers and a new pair of flannel pyjamas, to "keep you warm in that draughty castle." Her parents had also sent a number of books (somehow they had been able to purchase a few more of the wizarding murder mysteries she liked), as well as a few sweets (it was the first time she'd had a taste of Cadbury's Dairy Milk since August) and a wad of Muggle cash ("I'd send wizard currency, but it would be awfully heavy--I assume you can get these notes changed?" her Mum had written). After donning one of her pullovers--a nice, thick, Aran-knit--she put the gifts aside and stared at the tree for a while, absent-mindedly dangling a catnip toy just out of the reach of Erik's paws. She had to wonder what the day would be like--were wizard Christmases any different than Muggle ones? In some ways she hoped it wouldn't be too different. She wasn't sure whether she'd feel more homesick if she was surrounded by the same traditions or if there was nothing that was the same.

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Snape also woke early that Christmas morning. The Dreamless Sleep potion he'd been working on had managed to keep his usual nightmares at bay for most of the night, but around six-thirty he woke with a start. The dreamland image of a Dementor bending over him to administer the fatal kiss, You-Know-Who's laughter ringing in the background, was still fresh in his mind and for a moment he panicked, throwing the bed-curtains open and staring around the room as though looking for attackers.

The sleepiness cleared and Snape realized where he was and that he was alone. He also realized that apparently his potion hadn't quite worked. He would need to tinker with it, try and make its effects last longer, as well as allow the sleeper to fully wake more quickly than he had.

Wide-awake now and somewhat irritated at himself for having reacted in such a way, Snape climbed out of bed and walked into his ensuite bathroom, his heart still beating a little faster than was normal due to the nightmare. He showered (despite the students' comments, he _did_ bathe--he just didn't care enough to fuss over his appearance), dressed, then took down his encyclopaedias of potion ingredients and began calculating which ingredients could have their dosage increased safely.

He had almost forgotten what day it was until he glanced over at his empty fireplace and saw a stocking hanging there, a few parcels placed on the mantel. Oh, yes. Christmas. Silently he thanked whatever gods still showed him any mercy that there were so few students at Hogwarts this Christmas. The last thing he wanted to hear was the constant shrieking and mirth that holidays brought. If the rumours he'd heard were true, he wouldn't have any such reprieve next year.

Marking his page, he rose from his desk and walked over to the fireplace, snatching the stocking from its hook and hefting the somewhat weighty packages into his arms.

Carrying the lot back to his desk, he tipped the contents of the stocking out onto the desktop. It contained the usual sort of small tokens the teachers exchanged. A charmed keychain that ran after you and squeaked if you forgot it from Flitwick; his yearly horoscope from Trelawney (he put it in his desk against the day he needed a good laugh); a new set of black chessmen from McGonagall (she was positively ruthless when it came to chess: how could she have been a Gryffindor and not a Slytherin, with the way she played?); some dried mugwort seeds from Sprout; a couple rock cakes from Hagrid (_Could come in handy if I break another pestle this year,_ Snape thought); a broomstick servicing kit from Hooch (she had been nagging him about the state of his broomstick, this from the woman who polished hers after every flight); as well as a few others from the rest of the staff. 

The small gifts put to one side, Snape turned to the packages, knowing without looking at the tags that they were from Dumbledore. The Headmaster was rather generous at Christmastime, though Snape had told him more than once that he didn't need the gifts. He had the feeling that the generosity toward him stemmed from the fact that the Headmaster knew that no one else was.

The largest box held a new, utilitarian-looking set of scales, a useful gift as his old ones were getting somewhat unreliable. At least the Headmaster had given him a set that was obviously designed for much use. He'd been unable to find any in Hogsmeade that weren't elaborately ornamented, for show only. The second parcel held two thick potions books, very old, rare editions he'd been trying to get his hands on for ages. He couldn't help but wonder how Dumbledore had managed it, or even known that he wanted them. Then again, Snape had long since ceased questioning how the Headmaster "knew things". He'd never been entirely sure whether Dumbledore was clairvoyant or just a very good observer of human nature. Snape tended to favour the latter.

He didn't even have to open the last parcel to have a good idea of what it contained. Doubtless it would be the same as every other year. Tearing off the wrapping paper, he opened the Gladrags' box to find a set of robes in a very dark green; close to black, but not quite.

Snape sighed. The Headmaster did this every year, gently teasing him at every Christmas dinner about him never varying even the colour of his over-robes. Snape let him get away with it because he knew that Dumbledore never expected him to change, though the older man never stopped trying, either. The fact was that, like the rest of his appearance, Snape didn't really care what he wore and having an all-black wardrobe meant he never had to spare a thought for what he was going to wear. Besides, black fit his usual mood. He'd rather undergo hours of the Cruciatus Curse before he wore anything colourful, and the day he started dressing anything like last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, that bouffant buffoon Lockhart, would be the day that they could lock him up with said numbskull in St. Mungo's.

Pushing the gifts aside he turned his attention back to his book and his work, thinking of nothing else until he could ignore the rumbles of his stomach no longer and headed up to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner. 

He was greatly disappointed to only see the one table set up for dinner. Even though there were so few students remaining at the school for Christmas, he had hoped that Dumbledore would at least have had separate tables for the staff and students. But no, instead he was expected to sit with the same lackwits he had to see every day of the school year. 

Most of the company hadn't arrived yet so Snape sat down across from Flitwick, thanking him for his gift before looking down the table at the other occupants that had arrived so far.

Only two of the six students that could be expected to join them were actually on time: one of the fifth-year Slytherins, Salacia Wyvern, and Eve Berger. Snape nodded at Salacia, noticing that she didn't look particularly pleased to be there. She'd mentioned to him a few days earlier that she was angry at her parents for deciding to go on a "second honeymoon" for the holidays, as they'd been married on Boxing Day twenty years previous. Of course that plan obviously excluded their daughter from coming along, and she'd made her disappointment well-known when she'd broken the nose of a fellow Slytherin stupid enough to tease her about it. Snape had made it seem as though only the fact that the holidays were nearly upon them was reposnsible for him giving her a stern talking-to rather than a detention. 

Truthfully, he hadn't punished her because he could sympathize. The Wyverns had always stuck him as being about as concerned with their daughter as his parents had been with their son; that was to say, not at all, unless their children were being an annoyance.

Snape barely glanced at Eve, noticing that she was looking rather low in spirits as well, though she was trying to put the Gryffindor "brave face" on it. She'd looked more mopey with every passing day, so he couldn't imagine why she was suddenly trying to cover it up. _So you can't go home to Mummy and Daddy this year. Deal with it,_ he'd thought more than once, but hadn't said anything. While punishment for wrongdoing was certainly within his jurisdiction, mentioning something like that would be crossing into Minerva's territory.

A Hufflepuff first-year scurried in, followed closely by the rest of the teachers: Dumbledore, Sprout and McGonagall, as well as Filch who was surprisingly unaccompanied by Mrs. Norris. Snape checked his watch and irritably looked over at the three still-empty chairs just down the table. Potter and friends late again. Why did that not surprise him? He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, and besides, dinner did smell quite wonderful.

The Terrible Trio finally trouped in, Miss Granger not looking very happy about something, though both boys sported wide grins. Snape would have liked to reach out and hex the smile off Potter's face, but managed to restrain himself.

"Merry Christmas!" Dumbledore crowed as the latecomers took their seats, "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the house tables...sit down, sit down!" He turned to a stack of Christmas crackers and plucked a large, silver one off the pile.

"Crackers!" he said gleefully, and offered the other end to Snape, a mischievous grin twitching at the headmaster's lips.

Snape sighed and took the end, wondering if Dumbledore really had to be so damned cheery. He rolled his eyes upward to the enchanted ceiling and gave the end of the cracker a sharp tug. With a loud _BANG!_, bits of tissue paper and cardboard fluttered to the tabletop before vanishing. Snape saw Berger jump at the noise out of the corner of his eye, her eyes widening at the loudness of the noise. Used to those cheap, Muggle crackers, obviously, which barely made a "pop!" if they went off at all.

A witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture popped out of the cracker, and Snape glanced up at Dumbledore as he pushed the hat away. He knew, just _knew,_ from the expression on Dumbledore's face that the fact the hat looked like the one Longbottom had made the boggart wear was no coincidence. Dumbledore often told Snape that he shouldn't take himself so seriously, and Snape supposed that this was the headmaster's effort at that sort of humour. Snape certainly didn't seem to think it was all that funny, though he knew others did. He could see Potter and Weasley trying to stifle their laughter and doubly wished he could have hexed them both.

They had just begun to serve themselves when the doors to the Great Hall opened and Sybill Trelawney sailed in, her sequinned dress twinkling in the sunlight. Snape hardly paid any attention to her blithering about how she'd seen herself joining them in her crystal ball. At least that was until Dumbledore conjured a chair for her right in between McGonagall and Snape. Things just kept getting better and better. As though he wanted to spend the entire meal listening to the lunatic ravings of that daft old fraud. The fact that he held Divination in little esteem was only part of the reason he disliked Trelawney, her airy-fairy attitude was the rest.

Trelawney let out a muffled shriek and exclaimed, "I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

There was a near-simultaneous rolling of eyes around the table--Snape could see McGonagall, Sprout, Berger, Potter, Weasley and Granger do it nearly in unison.

"We'll risk it Sybill," McGonagall said shortly, "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."

Trelawney made a face as though she was sitting on a hedgehog as she lowered into her seat, her eyes closed and lips pinched together.

"Tripe, Sybill?"

Snape had to bite back a snort. Minerva was in fine form, apparently. Perhaps this would be an interesting dinner after all.

Trelawney had opened her eyes by this time, and looked around the table. "But where is dear Professor Lupin?" she asked, eyes wide under her thick glasses.

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again. Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day," Dumbledore replied.

"But surely you already knew that, Sybill?" McGonagall said, innocently.

"Certainly I knew, Minerva. But one does not parade the fact that one is all-knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

McGonagall's response was sharp. "That explains a great deal." 

Snape nearly choked on his mouthful of turkey. As it was, he had to grab his napkin to hide the smile that he was having a hard time controlling. He glanced at Dumbledore to see the headmaster give him a somewhat stern look, a warning not to say what older man knew he was thinking, though within a second, Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling merrily behind his spectacles once again.

Trelawney was still blithering on about Lupin, "He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him--"

"Imagine that," McGonagall interrupted.

This time Snape _did_ choke and had to give a sort of muffled cough and take a drink before he could reasonably compose himself.

Dumbledore raised his voice to cover Snape's choking and to signify that the argument was over. "I doubt that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

Snape cleared his throat slightly, using all his willpower to keep from so much as chuckling aloud when he answered in the affirmative. Dumbledore changed the subject, and they continued eating without any more caustic comments from anyone.

The meal was actually fairly pleasant, considering. Snape resolutely ignored Trelawney and the students, and talked with Flitwick and Dumbledore when the mood struck him. The food was excellent as usual, the house elves having outdone themselves yet again, and all in all he had to admit it was a relatively comfortable meal, even if some of his table mates seemed to be in deplorably high spirits. He was, however, glad to see that Potter and Weasley were the first to leave, though he didn't place much hope in Trelawney's dire predictions that one of them would be the first to die of those at the table, unfortunately.

Well, perhaps he didn't hope that, really. As much as he might occasionally think he wanted to kill Potter, he had, instead, spent the last few years doing his best to save the little prat's life. He hadn't yet decided if it was for any reason other than obligation. _Ah, irony,_ Snape thought as he watched the two Gryffindors walk away from the table, both chuckling at Minerva's comment about mad axe-men lurking in the Entrance Hall. _The one child I'd like to strangle the most is the very one we need. God help us all, in that case._ As much as Snape hated the thought, he knew that Potter would play a large role in the future, when the Dark Lord reared his (literally) ugly head again.

The rest of the company stayed for a little while, talking and trying to get up the momentum to get their full stomachs out of their chairs and waddle out of the Great Hall. Snape left Dumbledore and McGonagall talking to Berger. Salacia Wyvern had stalked out a few minutes earlier, scowling even more than she had before dinner, and he wanted to make sure she wasn't destroying the Slytherin common room in a fit of pique. Luckily for him she was simply sulking by the fire and he retired to his rooms for the rest of the day, foregoing tea in the Great Hall, and leaving the turkey sandwiches that the house elves brought him untouched on his desk. The thought of eating anything turkey-related for the next month made his stomach turn; or perhaps that was the chipolatas disagreeing with him. Either way, he wasn't at all hungry by tea-time, and so he had to endure the sighs of one of the house elves when they came to fetch the plate and found it full. Just his luck he'd entered his office just as the house elf had nipped in; usually they stayed well out of sight.

His Christmas gifts were still sitting on his desk and he went about putting them away. He had always been a neat, methodical person, thanks to his mother's neurotic cleanliness, and it was a trait that had certainly helped in his field. As it was, he hated disorder and the sight of a pile of things sitting on his desk immediately made his cleaning instinct kick in. 

The last gift to be put away was the robe that Dumbledore had given him. Snape looked at it for a moment, the familiar question of why the Headmaster even bothered running through his head.

_However you might try, Albus, you can't change me. I can't change my personality any more than I can change my past,_ he thought, before hanging the robe with the others Dumbledore had given him, in the back of the wardrobe, to be forgotten.


	11. The Blizzard Rescue

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers on FFN and on the Snapefic Liberation Front list; and my trusty beta, Joan (aka "HyacinthMacaw"). The reviews and comments really mean a lot to me. *sniff, sniff* I love you guys!

In case anyone is wondering, a small part of this next chapter _is_ based on experience. The joys of living in the Eastern Ontario snow belt. Though I don't really notice it any more, until my Mum comes up to visit and whines about the snow squalls. Muahahahahaha. :-)

Music I used for this chapter was the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Christmas Eve Sarajevo", mostly.

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**Chapter 11: The Blizzard Rescue**

Eve had to admit that if there was one benefit to staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, it was that the lack of preparation and familiar family events at least meant that the letdown after the holiday wasn't quite as bad. Still, the post-holiday normalcy did have its down side. Particularly the cabin-fever-inducing monotony of days in the castle. 

It wasn't until a couple days after Christmas that Eve finally felt that she had to get out of the castle and off the Hogwarts grounds, or she would go completely mad. It surprised her really, she would have thought that she'd be climbing the walls much earlier. But as her essays were either finished or at least thoroughly researched, she began to get antsy, finding it hard to concentrate. She hadn't taken advantage of her extra Hogsmeade privileges yet and she had a few things to do in the village, so she headed up to McGonagall's office one morning to make her case. 

"I was wondering if I could walk into Hogsmeade this afternoon, just after lunch? I need to get a few things, as well as deposit some of my Christmas money in my account at Gringotts," Eve said, simply. She had found that when making a request to McGonagall, it was best to be concise and bluntly persuasive. 

McGonagall looked a little dubious about the request. "Alone? It's a fair walk into the village..." 

"Professor, I've been around London by myself numerous times and I've lived on my own for quite a while. I know what precautions to take. Even with Sirius Black out there, I feel much safer in Hogsmeade than I do in London. I'll be back well before dark; by four-thirty at the latest." 

McGonagall sighed. "All right then. Please come check in with me when you get back, so I know you've arrived safely." 

"Certainly," Eve said, not finding a problem with that. McGonagall's offices were on the way to Gryffindor Tower anyway. 

After lunch she pulled on her boots, her winter cloak, scarf and gloves then set off down the path to Hogsmeade, hurrying past the Dementors as usual. There were a couple inches of snow on the ground and more was falling gently through the sky so that the road had a picture-postcard look to it. 

The village was bustling, even for a wintry day when the Hogwarts students were at home, so she had to wait a while to change and deposit some of her Christmas money at the Gringotts branch, and the shops were pretty packed. She didn't mind the crowds. She found post-Christmas shopping rather fun, really; if she had the luxury of time to wait in lines and meander through crowds, she didn't mind doing so. Still, she finished her errands relatively quickly and managed to find a small table at the Three Broomsticks next to the large, mullioned windows, where she could sip a Butterbeer and read for quite a while. 

She was so engrossed in her book that she didn't notice the time until the pub's clock chimed a quarter to four. It had taken her twenty minutes to walk into Hogsmeade, and she wanted to leave some extra time to get back, so she packed up her things and was back out on the road to Hogwarts within a few minutes. 

Leaving the Three Broomsticks, she turned and started back up the road out of the village, the snow still falling gently. As she walked it began to fall more thickly, the wind picking up and blowing the snow in her face as she reached the edge of village and trekked down the tree- and hedge-lined drive to Hogwarts. The snow swirled around her, its thickness increasing with each minute. It was sticking to her glasses, making it hard to see. She had to hold her hood up so that it wouldn't keep getting blown back from her face, the wind nipping painfully at her ears and cheeks. She used her other hand to hold the front of her cloak closed, trying to keep the wind out with little success. 

By the time she was halfway back she had had to slow down, walking becoming more difficult in the blowing snow, the visibility decreasing by the minute. She walked close to the hedges that lined the road, knowing from her guess at the time that she had to be a little more than halfway to Hogwarts, and that if she followed the hedges they would lead her to the gates. She had already come so far that it would be little use to turn back and so she pressed on, though the wind seemed to blow right through her cloak and gloves, making her shiver with every gust. Her fingers and toes were freezing and numbed, and it felt as though the skin was being flayed off her face by the wind. But she kept moving, telling herself that she was almost there, not yet worried about her ability to get to Hogwarts. Just a little further and she would be there, warm and dry again. 

She thought she had to be only about five or ten minutes away from the school when she heard something off to her left and stopped in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, she could just see a dark shape speed by her through the thickly falling snow, making a _whoosh_ noise as it passed. Like the sound of someone passing her at high speed, probably on a broom. A second later there was a soft _thump_. Someone dismounting? Eve didn't want to stay to find out. 

The hairs at the back of her neck were standing on end, but no longer was it from the cold. She started walking again, slower this time, her heart pounding in her ears as she strained to listen for any noises behind her though the howling wind. Then she heard it--the soft crunching, squeaking sound of footsteps in the snow behind her. 

She picked up her pace and the footsteps quickened in response. Her numbed fingers closed around the wand in her pocket, trying to think of a hex or curse she could throw if she couldn't get away; something that would slow her follower down. Mind racing, she tried to think of something, _anything_ Lupin or Flitwick had taught her that she knew she could do, that would actually achieve something. Her breath coming in gasps, she was about to run when suddenly someone grabbed her left arm from behind. 

Reflex took over as the fingers tightened around her arm. She turned left, toward the figure to break their hold on her, pulling her wand out of her pocket as she did so. As her wand tip pointed at her attacker, she yelled the one spell that came to mind. 

"_Expelliarmus!_" 

The spell went wild, her attacker blown off his feet--it was definitely a man, too tall for an average woman, her mind registered briefly--and falling into the snow behind her, the man's wand flying into her left hand. 

She had turned to run when a voice called out behind her. 

"_Fifty points from Gryffindor, Berger!_" 

It was Snape. 

Eve whirled around, staring at him in open-mouthed surprise as Snape sat up in the snowdrift. 

"What?!" she said, too stunned for a moment to think of offering him a hand up. Not that he would have taken it anyway, she thought later. 

Snape climbed to his feet, shaking the snow off his clothes before snatching his wand from her hand. 

"You attacked me!" he said, stepping close so that he was looming over her. He probably meant to intimidate her, but Eve wasn't in the mood to be intimidated. 

"_You_ attacked _me_!" 

"I did not attack you--" 

"You scared me half to death is what you did!" 

Snape's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, his voice more icy than usual when he spoke. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation back at the school where I _won't_ freeze to death? _Accio broom_!" 

The broom appeared at his side and he mounted, then lowered it, tucking his feet up by the handle. 

"Well, get on!" he barked, tilting his head to signal that she should get on the back. 

She climbed on, and was getting a grip on the handle when she heard him yell, "For God's sake, hold on to _me_, not the handle. You'll never stay on if you don't." 

Eve scooted farther up the handle until she was right behind Snape, then gingerly put her arms around his torso, trying not to hold on any tighter than was necessary. She certainly didn't want to get too close to the man; he wasn't the type of person with whom she'd like to get even as intimate as that. 

As soon as her arms were clasped around him, he took off, a little faster than she thought was really necessary. Eve unconsciously tightened her arms around him as they took off, the ground disappearing beneath their feet. 

They sped along the drive to Hogwarts, Snape keeping perfect control of the broom even as they were buffeted by strong winds. Eve kept her head low, partly so that she didn't have his hair blowing in her face, partly so that her face was blocked from the wind and snow by Snape's back. Her hands were numb but she managed to keep a tight hold on him as they flew past the Dementors and finally arrived at the front door. 

Snape lowered the broom so that Eve could dismount before he did, then stalked up the stairs and pulled the heavy front doors open for her. Leaning the broom against the door frame he barked, "Come with me," and started heading down the stairs to the dungeons, leaving puddles of melting snow as he went. Eve followed, though she would much rather have gone back to her room and changed into dry clothes. 

Snape led her to his office, where a cauldron bubbled over a roaring fire in the fireplace. "Hang your cloak there," he said, pointing to a hook at one end of the mantel. As she hung her cloak, he ladled something from the cauldron into a pewter goblet. Then he pointed to a winged armchair in front of the fire and said, "Sit. Drink this." 

Eve sat, and Snape pushed the goblet into her hands before striding out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Taking a tentative sip of the potion, Eve had to fight the urge to spit it out. It was nauseatingly thick and very bitter, worse than the one sip of Guinness she'd tried one night when she was out with some of her university dormmates. But when she swallowed it, she could feel the potion's warmth sliding down her throat and settling in her stomach, feeling almost as though it was radiating heat outwards. She pinched her nose and took another gulp, the warmth starting to spread to her arms and legs. By the time she'd finished the few remaining swallows, it had spread to her fingers and toes, which tingled painfully as sensation returned. 

She had just placed the goblet on the small table next to her chair when the door opened, banging against the wall. She turned and saw Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore hurrying in; McGonagall looking both worried and angry, Dumbledore just worried, Snape just angry. 

"Where on earth have you been? You're twenty minutes late!" McGonagall said, her accent thickening until her words were nearly lost between the rolling of her "R"s. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, and Eve immediately went on the defensive. 

"I was caught in the snow on my way back--" 

"But why did you even _think_ you could walk back through that storm?" McGonagall's cheeks were getting slightly red now, and Eve could sense an impending explosion. 

"I _didn't_. It wasn't snowing very hard when I left and I was more than halfway home when the storm hit, it made more sense to keep going than to turn around." 

"And what's this about you attacking a teacher?" 

"Professor Snape saw fit to sneak up behind me--" 

"I did not sneak up on you!" Snape said, interrupting. 

"Well you certainly didn't identify yourself! All I heard was someone flying past me, then stepping into the snow behind me. When I started walking again, I heard footsteps following me, speeding up when I did, and just as I was about to leg it, someone grabbed my arm! To me, that counts as sneaking up on someone. For all I knew you could have been Sirius Black!" 

"How did you...'attack' Professor Snape?" Dumbledore asked, giving Eve the impression that he was trying to bring everyone's attention back to her explanation of events. 

Dumbledore's face was neutral, so she decided that a simple answer would be best. "Expelliarmus," Eve replied, flatly, "Professor Snape was knocked backwards into a snowdrift, and I was about to run when he finally identified himself by taking fifty points from Gryffindor." 

"_Fifty points_?" McGonagall turned to Snape, her wrath now centring on him. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat, heading off the inevitable argument. "You showed good practical use of what you have learned, Miss Berger, for which I give Gryffindor fifty points." 

Eve could tell from Dumbledore's serious glance at Snape and herself that the amount of points awarded wasn't due to any exceptional performance on her part. Snape had taken them away unfairly (well, more unfairly than was usual for him), and Dumbledore was reinstating them, wiping the slate clean between them. As though it hadn't happened.

After a moment, Dumbledore smiled slightly, and continued, "Professor Lupin will be glad to hear of your practical use of his lessons. Now, both of you should get out of those wet clothes immediately. Miss Berger, you are dismissed. Minerva, I believe you had the next move in our chess game?" 

Eve nodded to the professors, grabbed her cloak off the mantel hook, then walked out, not looking back to see Snape's expression, though she knew he was staring after her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next day, Eve was somewhat surprised to an owl float down to her at breakfast, and even more surprised to see that it carried a note from Professor Dumbledore. It wasn't the right week for their usual meeting, though it was Thursday. He gave no indication of why he might want to see her, just requested that she come to his office at one-thirty. She assumed that it had to do with the events of the day before but couldn't think of what Dumbledore might say about it--if he was going to punish her, he would have done it then. 

At the appointed time, Eve knocked on Dumbledore's office door and walked in when he called to enter. Fawkes, the Headmaster's phoenix, was preening himself while standing on his perch, his bright red-and-gold plumage standing out against the grey sky through the window behind him. She gave Fawkes a pat as she moved around the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk then sat, looking at the Headmaster expectantly. 

"Have you spoken with Professor Snape today?" Dumbledore asked, his expression and tone indecipherable. 

"No." The phrase "should I have?" came to mind but she decided that would be too cheeky--she got the feeling Dumbledore respected her, and therefore deserved at least the same sort of respect in return. 

"Ah. I was simply wondering if the thought of thanking Professor Snape had occurred to you." Said by most other people this would have sounded sarcastic and somewhat rude, but Dumbledore managed to make it sound like nothing more than an inconsequential thought. Eve knew that it wasn't, however. 

"For what, exactly?" she replied, copying Dumbledore's unemotional tone, "I didn't ask to be rescued or need it, really. If Professor Snape felt the compulsion to act the hero--" 

Dumbledore raised a hand to stop her. "Professor Snape went after you because I asked him to, and because he, like the rest of the teachers here, are concerned with the welfare of every student in this school. He was the only one of those left that was both able to go and had the requisite experience, should you have met with any...difficulty along your way." 

"Still, I didn't _need_ his rescue--" 

"Does that truly matter? I asked you once to look at situations from your teachers' perspective, I ask it again now. All Professor Snape knew was that there was a snowstorm blowing outside, you were fifteen minutes late and that you hadn't been heard from since you left. Add to that the fact that Sirius Black is still on the loose..." Dumbledore spoke perfectly calmly, and paused to let her think for a moment before continuing. "His intent was to offer any assistance you might need, regardless of his own safety. That at least deserves some thanks." 

Eve sat and thought about it for a moment. She certainly hadn't needed rescuing...though she had been able to get back to the castle faster than she would have anyway. Dumbledore had asked Snape to go, so it wasn't like he'd gone entirely out of concern for her and besides, this was _Snape_, the last person in the world she'd want to go to with this sort of message--particularly if it could be misconstrued as an apology, which it certainly wasn't. Besides, why should she bother? Snape would just give some sarcastic response or brush it off anyway, it was hardly worth saying. 

_You should do it because it's the right thing and Snape deserves at least a "thank you" for heading out into a snowstorm to come after you. Would you have done the same thing, Gryffindor?_ Eve wasn't sure that she would have--well, she would if Dumbledore had asked, but she'd have been nervous as hell about it. 

Dumbledore seemed to know her changing thoughts from her facial expression, as he finally spoke again, smiling this time. "It is your decision. I simply wanted to make the suggestion. Now, was there anything you wanted to discuss with me?" 

Eve declined and left, her conscience battling with her pride and desire not to spend any more time with Snape than she had to. _Why the hell does Dumbledore want things right between Snape and I anyway? Harry Potter gets away with hating Snape as much as he wants, but I get prods to cuddle up to the obnoxious bastard,_ she thought as she passed the stone gargoyle and started for the fourth floor window nook that she had made her reading spot. 

If she didn't talk to Snape, she'd have the thought nagging at the back of her mind, and she'd be disappointing Dumbledore--though he hadn't made it sound that way, she knew he would be--which was no small concern. She really did care what Dumbledore thought of her, and she didn't want to disappoint him. And she had to admit that putting aside all the animosity between Snape and herself, he did deserve her thanks for this incident at least. If he chose not to take it as it was, well that was his problem. 

Turning on her heel, she changed course, walking back down the corridor to the main staircase and down to the dungeons. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Snape glanced at the door for the tenth time in as many minutes, wondering where that ruddy house elf could be as he flipped through his potion books. Thanks to the previous day's arctic excursion he had the beginnings of a head cold, and with Madam Pomfrey gone for the holidays, he would have to brew the remedy himself. Easier said than done when one's head felt as though it was about to explode from the pressure in one's sinuses. He'd been hoping that a cup of tea with honey would help a little, but it had been ten minutes since he'd given the order to a house elf and it still hadn't arrived. 

There was a soft knock at the door and Snape gave an aggravated sigh. _Took them bloody long enough,_ he thought, removing the spells that protected his office door. 

"Come in!" he barked, and watched as the door opened slightly, revealing not a house elf with a tea tray, but Eve Berger, looking slightly hesitant. 

"What do you want?" he snapped, trying desperately to keep his voice as normal as possible, even with his stuffy nose. To him, even showing the signs of a slight cold was a display of weakness, and he was determined not to show any weakness to his students. 

She stepped into the room, standing there somewhat stiffly. "I wanted to thank you for coming after me yesterday." Her voice was flat, her expression neutral. 

"Well you can tell Dumbledore I thank him for this show of gratitude, as it's doubtless all his doing." 

He could see her lips become thinner as she pressed them together in annoyance. 

"Professor Dumbledore merely explained why you came after me yesterday, he left the decision to come to you up to me. The only way he'll know about whether I did or not it is if he either asks you or you tell him." 

Snape had to repress a snort. Of course Dumbledore would know, whether Snape told him or not. Dumbledore always knew. But he didn't say that. Tired, not up to his usual capability for quick comebacks, Snape didn't want to argue the point with her any longer, though neither did he want to let her win the argument. 

"Well I'm sure you've made the right decision to soothe that Gryffindor conscience of yours," he said in a scathing tone. He turned back to his book, hoping that she would take the signal to leave. 

She gave a sharp sigh and when she spoke her tone was clipped. "Fine. I've done my bit and you can take what I've said however you like. It's not in my hands any more. Good afternoon, Professor." 

Snape didn't make any movement to acknowledge her departure, waiting until the door had closed rather firmly behind her to walk over to his chair by the fireplace and flop into it. 

No doubt Berger would never have come to him if Dumbledore hadn't at least put the thought in her head, and so was still more to thank for that little announcement than she was. He certainly knew about the fact that one was more likely to do something if Dumbledore "asked". The Headmaster almost never came out and asked someone to do something--he hadn't directly asked Snape to go after Berger the day before. However, the older man had a knack for letting you know what he'd like you to do in such a manner that the end was the same. You still had the choice of whether to do it or not--Snape had chosen not on a couple occasions, and Dumbledore hadn't said a word about it--but Dumbledore was the type of person who could make you consider things that you usually didn't want to, and someone that you didn't like to disappoint. 

_Yet another member of this staff who should have been a Slytherin. I'm not sure whether it's a good thing or not that many of the students in my house don't have half his cunning,_ Snape thought. 

Tilting his head back so that it rested on one of the chair wings, he silently prayed that Eve Berger _would_ be able to fast-track through Hogwarts. Even five years of this would be too long for his patience.


	12. Sirius Black Again

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: Well, I'm finally back! I know it's been a while, but I moved about two months ago and was without internet access for a month. I also had to finish up a summer course at university, and coupled with a full-time job, I didn't have much time to write. But here's a new chapter, to be followed by others soon. And for those on the Snapefic Liberation Front mailing list, this is a bit of a preview--at least if Yahoomort doesn't screw up somehow. You guys get to see this chapter before anyone else, as FFN is down at the moment. You feel special, I know.

By the way, would anyone like to volunteer to be a beta reader? I have a wonderful beta (hugs Joan) at the moment, but I'm neurotic enough to want more input before publishing chapters. :-)

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 12: Sirius Black Again

The rest of the school returned and winter term started, life returning to the usual rhythms of classes, assignments and Quidditch. With Slytherin's defeat of Ravenclaw at the match the weekend after everyone returned, much of the talk in the Gryffindor common room had returned to their chance of winning the Quidditch cup, with a lot of speculation about who would be where in the rankings, and if this team defeated that team and lost against another team, then Gryffindor may have a chance at the cup.

Eve sometimes wondered if she was the only person not discussing Quidditch, though she knew that wasn't actually true. There were other students, of course, that were either not interested or that just didn't join in. Hermione Granger was one. She seemed to have given up conversation of any kind after an apparent disagreement with Harry and Ron over Christmas. Though that partly could have been because of the girl's workload; practically every time Eve passed her, Hermione was surrounded by stacks of books and parchment. Eve could sympathize; with the vacation over homework was piling up, teachers giving out more and more assignments, so that she had little time even for the small amount of socializing she did with her fellow Gryffindors.

She hadn't completely discarded interpersonal contact, however. Three weeks after term began she was sitting in her room, working on a Charms essay when there was a tentative knock on her door.

She opened it and saw one of the fourth-year girls standing there, looking a little nervous and clutching a book, parchment, quill and ink.

Er, hallo. You're Eve Berger, right? Eve nodded, wondering what the girl wanted. I'm Glynnis Elsinore, and I, er, wondered if I could ask you for some help?

Uh, okay. I'm just not sure how much I can help with schoolwork--I'm only a first year...

Well, it's with Muggle Studies, actually, there are some things I just can't understand, and, well, you're probably the best person to ask.

Okay. Um, come on in. Take a seat, Eve said, showing Glynnis in and both of them taking a seat on her bed. Glynnis outlined her problem--understanding the Muggle obsession with cars--and Eve did her best to try and explain it, trying to tutor the younger girl a bit instead of just giving her all the answers. They ended up working for a few hours, and parting with Eve's offer to help her with future work.

Within the space of two weeks she had been approached by a few other students asking for help in the same course, three Gryffindors and one each from Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Professor Truman, the Muggle Studies teacher, teased her one day about doing his job for him and suggested her leading a tutorial class for Muggle Studies students, but Eve declined. She had enough to do as it was and it worked out better if students in need of help came to her individually. There were no large hordes beating a path to the Gryffindor common room for her assistance, but a few students came up to her in the library after that, asking for help in understanding their coursework. She became good acquaintances with some of them, but even if there were no major friendships forged, it was good enough for her just to feel that she was needed.

When she mentioned this to Dumbledore at their next meeting he smiled at her kindly, though she thought there was some regret in his tone and expression.

It is a very nice thing to be needed, yes. But take care that you never start to see that as your worth in this world. All uses have their end, and those who define themselves by their usefulness, eventually have difficulty coping with their lack of purpose when their chosen work is finished. 

Eve didn't comment on this advice with more than a nod. She got the feeling that it was only partly directed at her, the look of disappointment in his eyes making her wonder if he thought there was someone he should have given that advice to somewhere in his past.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the gloomy weather and increasing workload, Eve's mood actually improved over the first couple months of term. She was making better progress in her classes, performing a little above average as she had been used to in Muggle school. Both she and her teachers were pleased with her performance and she was starting to feel the usual small glow she got from knowing that her teachers were pleased with her work. It was very gratifying to hear them praise her progress, even though she was still far from perfect.

She had even come to view her Potions tutorials with a little less dread than she had been. Despite the animosity between her and Snape she was improving, and was also learning to read Snape a little better. While he never said anything encouraging or nice, she had learned to read his backhanded compliments _as_ compliments, and knew that when she received one that she had done well. A congratulations, Miss Berger, you've finally surpassed Longbottom, or even better, a terse delivered in his usual acidic tone, was becoming as gratifying as other teachers' praise, as she knew that was the most she could expect him to say. He would never admit out loud that she had done well, and so she didn't expect it. 

Where there were highs, however, there were also lows, sometimes in such a short period as a day. When Gryffindor won the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw in the first semester, Eve was there cheering on her house team as loudly as anyone, screaming herself hoarse when they won, firmly putting Gryffindor back into contention for the house cup.

That night hardly anyone got any work done, though she saw Hermione trying do some of hers. Eve decided to forget about her schoolwork for just one evening and celebrate with the rest of her house, enjoying the celebrations and the food that the Weasley twins had brought. Everyone was either exclaiming loudly about the events of the match or laughing at Malfoy and his cronies' failed attempts to frighten Potter by posing as Dementors. No one seemed to know just what it was that Potter had fired at them from his wand, but then almost no one cared, too busy giggling over the results it had achieved.

It was late before Eve finally went up to bed, the party still going on downstairs as she crawled under her warm duvet, Erik curled up next to her like a furry, purring, heating pad. Thankfully it was a Saturday night and she could make up for the lost sleep by sleeping late the next morning, or so she thought.

The next thing she remembered hearing was a distant scream, and in the fogginess of half-sleep she thought that the party had woken her up moments after falling asleep. But as she woke further, she realized that except for the cries, all was quiet--the party had ended. And those cries had not sounded jubilant.

There were loud voices in the common room now and feet were padding down the staircase to the common room. Throwing on her dressing gown, Eve stuck her head out the door.

What's going on? she asked a passing sixth-year.

The other girl shrugged, yawning. Dunno. Going to see what they're on about.

Eve followed the horde, finding Ron Weasley arguing with Percy as well as Harry Potter. She hardly had a chance to listen to their conversation before the portrait hole swung open and Professor McGonagall stepped in, evidently thinking that the party was still going on.

Ron stopped that thought, however. Professor, I woke up and Sirius Black was standing over me, holding a knife! he yelled, silencing everyone in the room.

Eve hardly heard what McGonagall and Ron said next, as she looked around at everyone else. They seemed to be thinking the same thing she was. _Sirius Black couldn't have gotten in one of the dorms, he just couldn't..._

McGonagall stepped outside to ask Sir Cadogan whether he had let Sirius Black into Gryffindor Tower, and everyone in the room gasped when he answered that he had, that Black had had all the passwords for that week written on a sheet of paper.

When McGonagall returned, her nostrils were flaring, every muscle in her face tense as she looked around the room with a piercing gaze.

Which person, which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week's passwords and left them lying around? she said, her voice low and clipped.

A small squeak echoed in the silent room, and the group of students parted to show Neville Longbottom, trembling with fear and growing paler by the minute, looking wide-eyed up at McGonagall. Slowly, he raised one shaking hand into the air.

McGonagall stared at him for a moment, before barking, Longbottom! My office! Now! I will have to inform the Headmaster of this.

Neville squeaked again, looking as though he was hoping a rock would appear that he could crawl under. With slow, shuffling steps, he walked past McGonagall and out of the common room, looking for all the world like a prisoner headed to the gallows.

Prefects, make sure _no one_ leaves this room. We will have to search the school and if any of the teachers finds any one of you outside this room, you will be cleaning the Owlery with a toothbrush for three months!

With that, the portrait swung shut, a wave of conversation rising the instant the hole was closed behind her.

Snape woke to the sound of someone banging on his door. Groggy, he fumbled for his wand, croaked and pointed it at the grandfather clock over by the fireplace, cursing loudly when he saw the time. It was three a.m.--either the middle of the night or early morning, whichever way you looked at it. Either way, it was far too early for him to even consider being conscious, much less for someone to be pounding on his door like they were trying to knock it down.

He rolled out of bed, shoving his feet into slippers before he marched over to the door and yanked it open.

What in God's name do you think you're-- he started, as he opened the door, but Minerva McGonagall interrupted him as she came into view.

Sirius Black was in Harry Potter's dormitory room! Dumbledore has ordered a search--we're all to meet in the Great Hall.

The students?

They're to stay in their dormitories.

Then give me a moment to get ready. He turned from the door and grabbed a day robe from the wardrobe, pulling it on over his nightshirt. He met Minerva at the door, locking it and stopping at the door to the Slytherin dormitories, ordering the painting of a rather fierce-looking British army general to not allow any students out of the tower. That done, he joined her once more and they hurried up to the Hall.

By the time they arrived the rest of the teachers were assembled, all dressed in whatever they could grab at a moment's notice.

Dumbledore gave them orders to search the same areas they had at Halloween in the same pairs and they set off, all of the teachers looking grim. Snape didn't say anything to Lupin but watched him carefully during the meeting and search, making sure to double-check every room that Lupin reported as being empty. Lupin _had_ to be helping Black in, there was simply no other way that he could be getting in otherwise.

He had taken a quick glance into one of the classrooms that Lupin had just checked, when he heard Lupin's voice from immediately beside him.

You don't trust me, do you Severus."

Snape whirled around to face him, reflexively putting on his well-honed poker face. I was simply looking to see if there was anything you'd missed, he said, mildly, but he could tell that Lupin didn't believe him.

When Lupin replied, it was in that calm, collected voice that drove Snape right up the wall. Why couldn't the man just lose his temper for once? Well I don't know why I'm bothering to defend myself against you--God knows you'll believe whatever you want, I know you that well--but I find it hard to believe that you could even think that I'd give the time of day to Sirius Black after he betrayed Lily and James Potter. Though perhaps you can't understand that kind of loyalty?

Lupin turned and strode quickly away, before Snape could make a comeback to Lupin's jibe. For an instant, Snape had to wonder if the other man knew about his chequered past, but pushed it aside. No, the only people who knew about that were Dumbledore and McGonagall. Some of the other teachers knew he had been a spy, but didn't know that he had been a Death Eater and turned, not that he hadn't been a spy all along. His trial hadn't been public, there could be no records on it. There was no way for Lupin to find out, unless...

_No. No matter how much Dumbledore may trust him, the Headmaster wouldn't have told Lupin about me. He __wouldn't_.

Snape shook off the thought. No, Lupin was just rubbing in the fact that Snape had never been a very popular person in school, even amongst the Slytherins, and those friends he had had were either dead, in Azkaban or were at least known to have been Death Eaters. Lupin was just preying on his chosen solitude, that was all. As much as he had been disappointed in Dumbledore a few times these past few months, Snape knew that his secret was safe with the headmaster.

They finished the search in silence, meeting with the others at the Great Hall sometime around four-thirty in the morning. No one had seen any sign of Sirius Black, no hint as to how he had got in or back out. Dumbledore dismissed everyone to go back to bed, saying that it was unlikely Black was still in the castle or would return that night at least and that he would discuss security with them after they had all had some sleep.

Snape went, but didn't go to sleep at first; couldn't do so, though he lay down and pulled the covers around him. His mind swirled with thoughts of Lupin and Black and his own school days. When he finally did go to sleep, it was a slumber disquieted by dreams of Black's sneering teenaged face and of werewolves hiding in shadows.


	13. An Interesting Proposition

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! The line from a "favourite play" is from Oscar Wilde's _An Ideal Husband._

A/N: I know, rather short chapter, and no Snape. Trust me, it's just one of those necessary chapters you have to go through before getting to some good stuff in the next one. evil authorial laugh

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 13: An Interesting Proposition**

No one in Gryffindor Tower slept that night, instead remaining in the common room for a few hours amongst the refuse of the party to vent their worries about Black's ability to get into the school. Ron must have told his story a hundred times before McGonagall returned to say that they hadn't found any sign of Black, yet again, and to send everyone to bed.

But though everyone obeyed, the tired faces at the breakfast table the next morning showed that not many had actually slept, and if they had, they hadn't slept well.

The mood was subdued that day and few students left the tower, though that could have been as much due to the security trolls that were guarding the reinstated Fat Lady's portrait, as to their uneasiness at Black's ability to sneak past the previous defences. If he could find a way into the dormitories themselves...

Trying to get her mind on something else, Eve worked on schoolwork for most of the day, brainstorming ideas for the research essays that some of her teachers had assigned. These were large, more challenging end-of-term essays assigned to her in lieu of those her classmates had been given and which were to be more in-depth than those expected from the other first-years. They weren't much different than the ones she'd had to do in university, really, but she had always found the hardest part of essays simply trying to think of something interesting to study.

She spent some time puzzling over what to do for her potions essay, trying to think of something that Snape wouldn't likely scoff at the moment she proposed it to him. The easiest to decide so far was History of Magic, though the sole truly interesting idea she'd had was something that she wasn't sure she'd be able to do. 

When Professor Binns had assigned her the essay she had immediately decided to mix Muggle and magical history. From her reading, she could see how much the two were obviously linked and she was fascinated by where witches and wizards turned up in mostly Muggle events. She had been nicely to surprised to see that there were even a couple wizards involved in one of the historical events that she had long been interested in: the sinking of the R.M.S._ Titanic_. Two wizards had been travelling on board the ship, escorting across the Atlantic the seventy-six cases of "Dragon's Blood" listed on the cargo manifest which had caused much head-scratching amongst historians in coming decades. They had survived the sinking by encasing themselves in a warming charm and swimming to an upturned lifeboat, not knowing that they were swimming close enough to the ship's baker for the charm to rub off on him and allow him to stay in the freezing water for a few hours. Luckily for the wizards involved the baker had been drinking rather heavily and his survival in the water had been accredited to the warming properties of liquor, at least until people knew better.

But the _Titanic_ story, interesting as it was, was too Muggle-intensive for this essay. Instead she'd decided to pursue an altogether different tactic, comparing two similar events; one Muggle, one magical: the Nuremberg trials of Nazi leaders after World War II and the Death Eater trials, after what she had taken to calling the Great Wizarding War. No other dark wizard had ever been as feared or as destructive as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and it was so recent that she would likely be able to find some good primary sources for the essay.

But therein lay her problem. Was it perhaps too recent? Too fresh in people's memories for her to be meddling with it, particularly for a first-year Muggle-born? It was unlikely that anyone other than Professor Binns would ever read it, or that anyone beyond Dumbledore and perhaps McGonagall and Madam Pince would even know what she was researching. But then rumours tended to spread like wildfire in Hogwarts; everyone there knew about almost everything that happened. 

She had her usual meeting with Dumbledore later that week and mentioned her concerns. When she'd explained her essay idea, Dumbledore was silent for a moment, his blue eyes looking in her direction but not _at_ her.

Eve could feel apprehension rising in her--she had pushed her limits too far and Dumbledore was going to tell her so, she'd presumed too much, she could almost hear him saying that she'd better pick something else.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "Why do you want to do this topic in particular?" 

Eve had been so certain that he'd say no that for a moment she couldn't think of what to say, before grasping at her responses as they started to surface.

"Well, I want to do something comparing Muggle and magical history, mainly because that's how I understand a lot of magical historical events, by finding similarities with Muggle ones. I don't know if I could have understood the situation with You-Know-Who--"

"His name is Voldemort, Eve," Dumbledore interjected gently. Eve was reminded of a line from one of her favourite plays: _Let us call things by their proper names, it makes matters simpler. _

"Er, the Voldemort situation, at least as well as anyone could have who didn't live through--or maybe I should say who didn't know about it, since I did live through it, only I didn't know it at the time--" _You're babbling, Eve,_ her mind prodded, but she couldn't help it--she always got rather nervous when on the spot. Taking a deep breath, she paused a moment to try and get her thoughts in order again. "I couldn't have understood it if I hadn't already learned about the Second World War, and been able to see the similarities between the two. As for this topic in particular...I will admit that I wanted to do it because I've been doing some reading on the subject, so I already have a bit of a grasp of it. I'm not deluding myself into thinking that just because I'm a Muggle I should write it because I might have a different perspective on things--more removed, you know--at least, not in the sense that my perspective might be somehow better than others or something, though I would like to think that I might be looking at it in a different way. And, well...this is just the topic idea that grabbed me--I can't really explain it more than that. It's not much of a reason really, just that as soon as the idea came to me, I could think of ways I might format the essay, what I wanted to cover, et cetera." Realizing that she was babbling again, she stopped and waited for Dumbledore's response while trying to think up a better argument and resisting the urge to fill the silence with explanations.

Dumbledore waited a moment, apparently considering her reasons before speaking, looking at her with an expression of the utmost seriousness. 

"I am loath to restrict any of the students in this school in their research, it seems to go against my role as someone who promotes the education of young people, and I do not want to start doing that now. But if you are to do this essay, I must lay down some guidelines before I give you access to the materials you need. The primary of these is that you must not tell any of your fellow students what you find out. There are children at this school whose families were involved in either side of the battle, and who, for various reasons, would be harmed if some information about their families became general knowledge. Some of their parents may not even have told them about events that happened to their relatives during the conflict, waiting until they are ready to know. Unfortunately, I cannot really restrict what materials you look at to prevent this--the size of the magical population in Britain means that all those of magical parentage had relatives somehow involved, some of whom would naturally have different surnames and not be obviously connected to those students. For that reason I make my second request, that you not allow anyone save Professor Binns, Professor McGonagall or myself to ever see your essay or your notes. I ask that you not work on this in your common room, or in the public sections of the library, but keep all your materials in your room or in your rucksack during school hours, or when walking between your room and the restricted section of the library. I also ask that in case someone does ever read any of your research, that in all your notes and your essay, you not use any more personal information than is absolutely necessary. Names and positions are obviously completely out of the question. Anything more than that I leave up to your discretion, but I ask that you err on the side of caution in every instance.

"Please understand, my requests are made not because I do not trust you. I must be honest, I would not let you pursue this line of research if I thought that you were likely to tell other students about it, even without my asking you not to do so. If I was not convinced of your ability to handle what you may find or to bear this responsibility that I have asked of you, nor the absolute necessity of your seeing the materials I am going to give you access to, I would not give you the privilege and responsibility. 

"As you have no doubt heard, Hogwarts is one of the safer places in the magical world, and the Ministry of Magic has over the years had us host a number of different collections which should be preserved at all costs. Most of these are in the restricted section, and many are so precious or provocative that they cannot be taken outside it. Only those students pursuing serious research, such as those in their upper years, are ever allowed to access this material. Truthfully, most students never ask for this access or would require it, their research best served with materials that happen to be more readily available, or they are simply not concerned with those topics. This year there are only eight students in the school who have asked for this sort of access, and I have given it to all of them. The restricted material that I offer to you is the edited edition of the Ministry's Death Eater trial records. In return for your agreement with, and compliance with the guidelines I mentioned previously, I will give you access to the edited version of the trial records. If you are worried about the edited version compromising the integrity of your essay, you should not be. It is edited only in that the names of the innocent are removed from its pages. Do I have your word that you will follow the rules I have given you? I must ask you to make a wizards' contract on this; do you know what that means?"

Eve couldn't believe that Dumbledore was actually doing this. She'd never imagined that she'd get this sort of access, and was determined not to let him down. 

"I do. I promise to follow the rules you have mentioned." It was not a light promise. Eve knew enough of the wizarding world and the way it operated to know that when a witch or wizard gave their word on something after another invoked a wizard's contract, they were bound to follow their promise by a very powerful sort of magic. Not only was there the usual threat of legal and personal liability if a magical contract was broken, but they also operated somewhat along the same lines as the idea of "karma": break the contract, and very nasty things would be visited back on you tenfold.

But Dumbledore hadn't said anything that Eve couldn't agree with or would find hard to follow, and so it wasn't much of a hard bargain. Besides, even if she had had to consider it, she was still surprised that he was giving her as much latitude as he was.

The next day, Madam Pince showed her where the edited trial records were kept, as well as the spell to disarm them: tapping a certain gilt ridge on the leather spine with one's wand four times and saying "_Pace_" on the third tap. Madam Pince didn't say what would happen if the spell was done incorrectly or not performed, but from her tone it sounded rather gristly. Eve had enough practice that afternoon opening the indexes and a couple of the introductory volumes that she was reasonably certain she'd remember the spell later. 

Eve began her research for her essays the next week, spending a lot of her time in the library, as she now even found her room too distracting. She had too many of her favourite books there and too often wanted to simply read one of them instead of the books she was using for her essays. Erik also had a knack for distracting her once she'd settled down at her desk. He would rub against her legs, meowing pitifully, begging for attention; or he would jump into her lap and put his little face right up to hers, making it rather hard to read.

Instead she chose one of the more isolated tables in the library, when she wasn't in the restricted section, and took copious notes in print as tiny as she could make it, to save parchment. As she began her research she was comforted by the fact that she now had a much larger base of knowledge about the wizarding world to work with, which certainly helped. She didn't have to worry so much about knowing the background, things that most witches or wizards did not explain because they took them for granted. However, she was to learn that there were still a few things she did not know about the world she now lived in.


	14. Two Shocking Discoveries

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: One quick comment: soundtrack for this chapter was tracks 8 and 11 from the score to "The Sixth Sense" by James Newton Howard, and in particular the Medieval Baebes' "E Volentieri (reprise)" from their CD "Undrentide". Now for the evil laughter. Muahahahahahaa!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 14: Two Shocking Discoveries**

Despite the fact that she had made an improvement in Potions class, Snape did still have a tendency to snap at her when she wasn't quick enough for him or he was in a particularly irritable mood, usually due to something he'd read in the _Daily Prophet_ about sightings of Sirius Black. He was confident he could have easily found out where Black was hiding if he was given five minutes alone with Lupin and a bottle of Veritaserum. Naturally, he hadn't received that wish yet. 

One day in mid-March he was in a particularly foul mood during her tutorial and in consequence was being rather shorter with her than usual. His irritation was not helped when she was a full minute answering a question he had asked, and in a tone of immense frustration Snape barked, "Kindly don't take a lifetime to answer Miss Berger--I don't have a hundred and fifty years to waste." 

Berger had been blushing angrily into her copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions_, obviously looking for something to prod her memory, or stalling until she could avoid answering by adding the final ingredient to her Disinfecting Potion. When he spoke, however, he instantly saw her face change, the angry creases on her forehead smoothing into confusion. After a moment she looked up at him, her puzzlement written on her face. 

Snape wasn't in the mood for her to be staring up at him like a stupid, confused dog, and looked at her coldly for a moment. "What? Another entry in the mammoth encyclopaedia of things you've failed to learn?" 

If he'd been hoping to get her temper up, he'd failed miserably. Instead her eyes widened slightly, and she said, slowly, "One hundred and fifty years? That's the average lifespan? But...I'd never read that..." 

Snape sighed. He did _not_ want to be having this conversation at the moment, particularly as she seemed troubled by it. He couldn't think why; he would have thought that she'd be jumping at the fact that she'd be able to hold off natural death for seventy-five years longer than expected. But as she did seem to be taking the news rather hard, best to send her off to everyone's shoulder to lean on in times of trouble: Dumbledore. 

"Yes, well. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore would be better at answering your questions. Add the aloe extract, stir it three times anti-clockwise, then go up to the Headmaster's office. I will let it simmer for a half-hour then see if you've done it right. Dismissed." 

Berger added the final ingredient and stirred the potion before packing up her books and walking out of the room, looking too preoccupied to give him any answer, or, not that he had been expecting it, thanks. 

Snape moved to his desk once she had gone and scribbled a note to Dumbledore, explaining what had happened. Once he'd sent it through the intra-school floo network, he set to marking his sixth-years' papers using the blood-red ink and eagle-owl quill he kept for just that purpose. He liked to think that his selection of writing materials was a symbolically apt choice. Absorbed by his marking, he didn't spare another thought for Berger until half an hour had passed and the timer he'd set went off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eve walked up to the Headmaster's office in a bit of a daze, a thousand different thoughts running through her mind, the foremost of which was: _how could I have missed this?_

Dumbledore was obviously waiting for her, as she had hardly knocked when she heard him call, "Come in, Miss Berger," and she walked in. 

As usual, her eye was drawn to Fawkes first, his vivid red plumage contrasting with the dim, grey light outside. The phoenix tilted its head to one side and regarded her for a moment before letting out a single, shimmering chirp before preening his feathers. The note of phoenix song lifted a little of the weight on her shoulders and when she turned to Professor Dumbledore, she could do so with a little more composure that she would have a few minutes earlier. 

"Professor Snape informed me that you would be coming and why. Please tell me about what happened," Dumbledore asked, gesturing to the chair across his desk. 

Eve sat and after a moment's thought told him what Snape's comment had been as well as her reaction to it. "I'd never read that anywhere. I knew there were some witches or wizards who lived longer than the ordinary human lifespan, but I thought it was an exception, not the rule." 

"You most likely hadn't read it because the books you were reading assumed you knew. Most magical people grow up knowing it, while Muggle-borns learn about it when they're still rather young, and so don't usually consider what that means." 

"Well I have to admit it is nice to think that I've got at least another 125 years in front of me. I never expected I'd have the chance to see two turns of the century. But that means that all my Muggle friends, my cousins...every non-magical person I know now will die long before I do. And if I married a Muggle...my husband and any non-magical children I had...I'd have to watch them die of old age." 

Dumbledore paused a moment, and when he spoke it was prefaced with a small sigh. "Miss Berger, there is nothing I can say that will make this knowledge any easier to absorb. This is simply one of those things that every Muggle-born witch or wizard has to come to terms with, as it is something that cannot be changed. Certainly, if you were ever to fall in love with a Muggle, it is something you have to consider and...and as someone who has been through the experience it is not an easy decision. All I can say is that you should never give up the chance for the greatest happiness simply to avoid a great deal of pain as well." 

Eve looked up at him in surprise. Dumbledore had been in love--possibly even married a Muggle? She knew the idea shouldn't seem so foreign. He was human like everyone else, and despite the perennial schoolchild's amazement that their teachers did the same things as everyone else, there was no reason she could think of that she shouldn't have imagined that any of her teachers was married. Well, except possibly Snape, though one never knew. 

Dumbledore smiled at her patiently. "Yes, even I, Albus Dumbledore, did something so ordinary as fall in love." Eve was about to say that that wasn't what she'd meant, but he waved it off. "And that I happened to do so with a Muggle. We were married in 1870, when she was twenty. She died in 1938. I would not have given up those fifty-eight years with her to have been spared missing her for the last fifty-six. However, I do believe that if you spend much time worrying about that at the moment, you will be putting the cart far before the horse, if I'm not mistaken." The usual sparkle in his eyes reappeared and Eve had to smile in response. 

"Miles before the horse, I'm afraid," she replied lightly, then sobered a little, remembering one of the questions that had been flitting around her head since she'd come to Hogwarts. If anyone knew the answer, Dumbledore would. "Professor...do you have any idea _why_ I developed magical ability, why now? Shouldn't there be some explanation?" 

Dumbledore looked at her, his smile still present but bittersweet now. "In a perfect world we would know the reason for everything. Unfortunately this is not a perfect world. As far as I have been able to find out, there is no certain explanation. Possibly one of your distant ancestors was a witch or wizard, and the ability remained dormant in your family line until you were past the usual age. Perhaps you are simply like other Muggle-born witches and wizards, except that for some reason your talent manifested itself later in life. It _has_ happened before. Not in recent memory I admit, but it has. I'm afraid that's the only explanation I can offer. Now, I believe it is almost time for dinner. You'd best go join your housemates." 

Eve nodded her thanks and walked out, feeling better in spirit and with a little more personal respect for Albus Dumbledore--not that that hadn't been rather high already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

By early April, Eve had settled into a routine for her essay preparations. She found that, naturally, the library was usually at its least busy during lunch hours, and she would often use that time to work in the restricted section. She wasn't all that keen on her fellow students seeing her going in there so often. With the way that rumours spread around Hogwarts she didn't want to start any speculation that she was dabbling in the Dark Arts. Though she didn't much care what the other students thought of her, her life would be a great deal easier if she didn't have to deal with sidelong glances or nosy questions. Besides, she couldn't let anything happen to break that wizards' contract. 

The Friday after Easter vacation she rushed from Defence Against the Dark Arts class to lunch and from the Great Hall to the library still looking rather tousled from her lesson. They had been learning some simple hexes and her partner in class had hit her with the Hurricane Hex, which directed a strong gust of wind at an opponent, so strong that they couldn't advance toward the caster. Eve had had to repeat the counter-hex twice before it had finally stopped, and she had been able to put the Frogspawn Curse on her partner, making them speak in frog-like croaks until Eve performed the counter-curse. 

"Good afternoon Madam Pince!" she called softly as she neared the librarian's desk. 

"Hallo, Miss Berger. In the restricted section again today?" 

"At the moment, yes." 

Madam Pince produced the sign-in book and quill for those working in the restricted section and Eve signed in. From the list of signatures, she could see that two of the other students with the same privilege were already inside. She hoped that neither of them had taken her preferred table. She doubted it--they seemed to have their favourite places to work as well. 

The ink glowed green as she finished writing her name, the books she was using and the course she was using them for, signalling that she was authorized to go in. Madam Pince shut the book and opened the latticed door for Eve to enter. 

Once inside, Eve immediately turned right, and headed down the fourth row of shelves from the door, her feet so used to the route that she didn't need to think about where she was going. Instead, she was thinking about the things she would be looking for that day. Her parents had sent up a couple more used books they'd been able to find on the Nuremberg trials a few days before, and Eve was trying to think of situations she'd briefly read about that she could match up in a comparison. 

She found her favourite table, glad to see that the other students weren't around. She had looked around the restricted section for a few minutes before choosing her workspace, trying to find the best location. The table she'd chosen was near the back of the restricted section, in a corner where very little light and noise from the rest of the library filtered to her. It was well away from any other tables or shelves, so there was little chance of someone peeking over her shoulder as she worked, the light so low that the table had its own reading lamp on it. She tapped the Victorian-style lamp with her wand, saying "_Lumos_," as she did and it flicked on, throwing a soft, yellow glow onto the table top. She put down her ink, quill, and folder of research notes before walking back into the stacks, unthinkingly making her way to the section on the Death Eater trials. 

Reaching the familiar row of books, she took out her wand and tapped the third volume of the set four times, whispering "_Pace_" on the third tap. In response, the volume slid out about a centimetre, confirming that she had deactivated the security protection on that volume. She repeated the process with a few other volumes she thought she'd need, then hefted them back to her table. 

After unlocking her folder of notes she set to work, looking up those cases she'd thought might be useful, scribbling notes in a cramped, somewhat illegible hand. As she read, she sometimes wrinkled her nose or cringed at some of the things being described, though she felt only a little sickened at some of the crimes she was reading about. Written in plain language, there was a distance between what she read and the part of her brain that actually realized that these things had happened. Not that she didn't feel any less disgusted at the perpetrators and what they'd done. 

It was while she was flipping between records when she saw it: a few words that set off alarm bells in her brain. Words she hadn't expected to see, and certainly not in that combination. She stopped, then flipped back, page by page, looking for the place where she'd seen them. She was sure she'd seen them near the right-hand margin on the right-hand page, but part of her mind was saying that she had to have been mistaken in what she saw. Her hands were sweating, heart racing. She _had_ to be mistaken... 

Suddenly they were there, and as she read the line which contained them she pushed her chair back with a gasp, recoiling from the words which she both could and could not believe were true. 

_No! I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!_


	15. A Forced Confidence

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: _A huge pile of papers sits in the middle of an empty floor. Upon closer inspection it seems to be made up of essays, assignments, reports and handouts. Suddenly, the pile shifts, papers sliding as something inside the pile moves. With much shuffling, something begins to emerge from the pile: a few fingers, a hand, and finally, an arm. The hand and arm are covered in paper cuts, fingers grasping a few pieces of paper. With an "oof!" noise which comes from somewhere under the pile, some of the pages are tossed into a box with "Snapefic Liberation Front" written on it, the rest into the box labelled "Fanfiction.net". A brief white glow from each of the boxes and the papers fanish into the ether. The hand recedes back into the pile, the only sound from the mountain of papers a muffled whisper: "Two weeks till vacation, two weeks till vacation..."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 15: A Forced Confidence**

_No! I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!_

For a moment Eve sat there, hardly breathing, while a thousand conflicting thoughts tumbled through her brain. She read the statement over again and the testimony that followed, Dumbledore's explanation that Snape _had_ been a Death Eater but had turned, had spied for the good side. But no matter how many times she read the testimony she still could not believe it, could not comprehend it.

_No, it can't be true...but it __must__ be...but if it is, then why is he here at Hogwarts, instead of in Azkaban? Why does Dumbledore trust him?_

She both could and could not see Snape as a Death Eater. Certainly of all the teachers he seemed the most likely to be, well, evil. But if what Dumbledore had said was true, Snape wasn't evil--or not now. But what on earth could have made Snape join the Death Eaters then turn his back on them? How could he have committed the kind of acts that she had read about, and only later repented--if he had at all? How much had he participated? And what was it that had made Dumbledore believe that Snape was on his side?

Somewhat surprisingly she found herself hoping that Snape really had repented. While she didn't like him one bit, it was hard for her to think of any of her teachers as being capable of that sort of cruelty--even Snape, who seemed to make cruelty his stock-in-trade. Besides, if he hadn't changed his ways then that meant that Dumbledore had been played for a fool, though she couldn't imagine that as a possibility. Dumbledore seemed too...omniscient for that. But then, he was human like anyone else... Still, she couldn't believe that Dumbledore could have been mistaken in this, or more accurately, she did not _want_ to believe it. 

She seized the index, flipping through it until she found the section, scanning the names for any entries under Snape, Severus. There were none. His name wasn't even in the list. Turning back, she looked up all the entries under Dumbledore, Albus, but there was not even a brief mention of the trial of a Death-Eater-turned-spy. The fact that there was no record of a trial did nothing to calm her turbulent emotions; there hadn't been an entry for Black, Sirius, but everyone knew that he had been You-Know-Who's second-in-command.

The warning bell for the end of lunch sounded and Eve packed up the books, only half paying attention as she put them back. With a sudden lurch of her stomach she remembered that she had her tutorial with Professor Snape right after lunch. How on earth was she going to be able to look at him with these suspicions floating around her head?

Dreading her time with Snape, she slowly packed up her things and dropped them off in her room before making the long walk down to the dungeons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The instant that Eve Berger walked in the door of the Potions classroom Snape knew something was up. Her brow had a constant furrow and she was avoiding his gaze. More accurately, she was avoiding looking at him entirely. He didn't need to have even Trelawney's powers of divination to tell that there was something on Berger's mind. However, what it was was none of his business and as long as it did not interfere with her tutorial he frankly did not want to know. Except when it came to his Slytherins, he had no interest in involving himself in his students' lives.

The problem was that it _did_ interfere. He happened to look up at her from the essays he was marking just as she was about to add an ingredient to her potion, and the sight of the phial in her hand--or more particularly, the contents of that phial--made him blanch. In an instant he had jumped out of his chair and crossed to her, catching her by the wrist and pulling the hand holding the phial away from her cauldron. As he grabbed her, he could see her give a slight jump in surprise, like someone who had just been wakened from sleep. _She hadn't been paying attention!_

With the disaster averted Snape could allow his rage full rein, and now that Berger was actually looking at him he glared straight at her. This was beyond careless, beyond stupid...

You stupid girl, I said to use powdered unicorn _hair_, not powdered unicorn horn! You could have seriously injured yourself due to your _lack of attention_! he barked, feeling the blood pounding in his temples.

He'd been expecting some defiance in response, but instead Berger lowered her head and whispered, I'm sorry sir...I had something on my mind.

Her explanation did nothing to calm him and his next words were cutting. You have detention all next week, and I'll make it two if you don't tell me what was so engrossing that you nearly made a disastrous mistake.

Snape saw her bite her lip as an expression of fear flitted across her features. I'm waiting, Miss Berger...

She took a deep breath, as if to steady her nerves, and she finally looked up at him once again. But the expression he saw there was not the one he was expecting. He had expected the fear on her face, but not the small look of hope that was in her eyes.

Is it true that you were a Death Eater? she asked in a shaky voice.

Snape took a step back in surprise, feeling as though a cold hand had seized his throat. Of all the things he could possibly have imagined her saying, that had to be the absolute last one he was expecting. Usually so calm and controlled, he could hardly spare a thought to relax his features, appear unaffected by her question. A single thought swirled through his brain: _How can she know?_

Who told you? he gasped, not realizing until after he said it that he'd as good as answered in the affirmative. Her expression became earnest and he suddenly felt naked under her gaze.

M-my essay for History of Magic, it's partly about the Death Eater trials and one of the accused named you as a Death Eater. So...so it's true that you spied for Dumbledore?

Snape snapped back to reality, realizing that he'd already said far too much. He had to go on the offensive, protect what ground he'd lost. He couldn't give her a straight answer of course. If he denied it she would continue to wonder exactly whose side he was on, particularly as she had read Dumbledore's testimony. It was more dangerous to have her questioning the answers than to think she knew them. However, he would never clearly admit to his past in front of a student; it was far too personal. A non-answer seemed the best way--no doubt she would consider it a and hopefully would drop the issue.

Of course there was always one more option left to him...an Obliviate spell. That was out of the question, however. He hadn't cast one in years and while he had no doubt of his ability to do it, it was doing it to the proper degree that worried him. If her memory was damaged, people would notice, would ask questions. Dumbledore would ask questions and he was the one person Snape could never lie to.

Stepping in closer to her, making sure that he was invading her personal space, he pointed a finger in her face and said in a low, cold voice, If you tell _anyone_ about this...

I won't! she said, sounding slightly annoyed. Good, better for her to be angry at him and to put the whole thing aside. I can't tell anyone or I break a wizard's contract; I wasn't even going to tell you.

Good. Now as you've nearly killed yourself once today, you'll tip that out, he said, pointing to her cauldron, and do it again in detention tomorrow--yes, after the Quidditch match--at which time you will also hand in a twelve-inch paper on what effect the addition of unicorn horn would have had on that potion, as well as any way to counteract it. Get on with it! Turning on his heel, he swept back up to his desk and busily shuffled papers around while she cleaned up. He couldn't help but notice that she was tidying her things faster than usual. No doubt she wanted to get out of the dungeon as fast as possible.

Once the door slammed behind her he set the wards around the room, then gathered the papers he'd been marking and hurried into his office. Dropping the papers on his desk, he plopped into the armchair by the fire. A headache was rapidly building behind his temples and he leaned back, trying to get his bearings.

_Bloody hell,_ he thought, _of all the people... Only Potter would be more of a pain in the arse if he were to find out. Fourteen years of being on Dumbledore's side and I still can't put that one immeasurably stupid mistake behind me._ His single comfort was the fact that the impeding detention would hopefully spoil her Saturday, dampening some of the high spirits doubtless stirred up by the final Quidditch match of the season. The winner of the Quidditch Cup would be decided the next day with the big match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. He would certainly love to see her downcast expression in detention should Gryffindor lose, even if it meant he would have to miss some of the Slytherin celebrations.

Snape paid little attention to the time, not noticing anything around him until there was a sudden jump in the flames and he heard a voice speaking from the direction of his fireplace.

Snape looked up in surprise to see Dumbledore's head hovering in the flames. May I join you for a moment?

Snape nodded and Dumbledore's face disappeared before the headmaster himself stepped through the fireplace into the room, brushing soot off his robes.

I trust you had something happen during this afternoon's tutorial, he said with his usual unflappable calm.

How did you know?

The expression on Miss Berger's face and your absence at dinner was enough to tell me. What exactly was the problem?

The problem, headmaster, Snape said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his tone, is that thanks to Berger's research, she now knows that I was a Death Eater. Would you mind telling me exactly how that happened?

It wasn't often that Snape got to see Dumbledore appear at all surprised by anything, and this wasn't much of an exception. The headmaster's snowy eyebrows lifted slightly, but other than that he gave no outward sign of shock.

I cannot be sure myself, Severus--

I thought my trial was supposed to be closed, that all records of it were to be buried, erased. As though it never happened!

And to my knowledge they were but nothing can remain buried forever, Severus. She certainly could not have read the records of your trial, or those of most of the other Death Eaters that mentioned you, but there must be some evidence... Dumbledore's face changed, as though he was only just remembering something.

he said slowly, staring pensively into the fire. Karkaroff was released because he named others that were involved with Voldemort. He named you and his trial was not public, but nor was it entirely secret. The trial stenographer would have recorded it and the text not censored. The records were only censored to protect the innocent--

Snape let out a snort. And I'm hardly innocent. If she tells anyone...

Miss Berger will not tell anyone of this. I would not have let her have access to the records if I did not have complete trust in her not to tell another living soul about what she finds there, as with any other student with access to restricted materials. She will tell no one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Eve and the rest of the students herded out of the Gryffindor common room the next morning, a few students handed out scarlet rosettes and flags. Eve grabbed one that had LIONS FOR THE CUP! written on it and pulled her house scarf a little tighter. The air was still a little chill for April, but most of the students would have worn their house scarves anyway, simply to show their team colours. Even with detention looming, she couldn't help but feel excited about the upcoming match. After watching almost all the school games, she had gained an appreciation for the sport, and besides this was the match to end all. Gryffindor and Slytherin, to decide the winner of the Quidditch Cup--and Gryffindor with such a deficit of points going into it! The stakes were decidedly higher, and it was much more interesting seeing the two best teams in the school play the final match.

The students hurried into the stands with some jockeying for seats, though considering how high the players flew, the view wasn't much of an issue. Across the field Eve could see a sea of green and grey; the Slytherin students had come with similar enthusiasm for their team. She thought she could even see Professor Snape sitting with his house, a Slytherin scarf over his usual black robes. Looking away, she concentrated on the door to the dressing rooms. She wouldn't let the thought of detention ruin her mood.

As the Gryffindor players swept onto the field, Lee Jordan announcing their names, the Slytherin heckling was drowned out by the chant of _Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor!_ The chants switched as the Slytherins rocketed from their dressing room, the Slytherins chanting _Get them Slytherin! Get them Slytherin!_ as the other houses booed loudly.

The crowd noise died as Madam Hooch walked onto the pitch, the tension infecting every one of the spectators. The balls were released and with the shrill chirp of Hooch's whistle, the match began.

From the outset it was obvious that neither team was about to stick to the rules; anything they could get away with was fair game. Players deliberately rammed each other, each team's Beaters hitting the bludgers with as much force as they could. It was hard to keep an eye on the action, members of both teams zipping from one end of the pitch to the other, flying in and around each other with alarming speed and amazing dexterity. Eve's stomach clenched with every attempt to score at either pitch, heart leaping when Gryffindor consistently racked up points, heart falling when Slytherin got one by the Gryffindor Keeper. It was common knowledge that Gryffindor needed a score of over two hundred points to win the Cup. If they could only get thirty more points and the Snitch before Slytherin did...

Alicia Spinnet scored another goal with a penalty shot, making it forty to ten for Gryffindor. Katie Bell scored, then Angelina Johnson; all they needed now was for Potter to catch the Snitch. Everyone's eyes lifted to watch him, Gryffindor cheers rising as they saw him dive for the Snitch, changing to boos when Draco Malfoy caught Harry by his robes, slowing him down. Madam Hooch ordered another penalty shot, but Alicia missed. Most of the Gryffindors were too angry with Malfoy to care. Besides, they had the needed ten extra points, and soon after, twenty. If only Potter could get the Snitch!

The game went on, Potter foiling an attempt to block Spinnet, but a streak of green robes was heading for the pitch--Malfoy had spotted the Snitch!

There was a near-unanimous gasp from the Gryffindors as Potter dove, far behind Malfoy. Eve joined the whispered chant that went through the stands: Come on Harry, come on, Harry... as though by sheer force of will they could make him catch up.

Potter was gaining on Malfoy by inches. Five feet..four...three...two...one...Potter was coming up alongside Malfoy...they were level...Malfoy was reaching for the Snitch...

There was a flurry of arms and Potter soared back up into the air, fist clenched, his expression triumphant.

_Potter had the Snitch! Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup!_

Gryffindor house leapt to its feet and screamed at the top of its lungs, instantly joined by Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Students ran to the stairs, then clattered down to the pitch, cheering all the way. The field was a sea of gold and crimson as the Gryffindor students swarmed their team before hoisting them onto their shoulders and carrying them toward the end of the pitch where Professor Dumbledore waited with the Cup, Professor McGonagall sobbing with joy at his side. 

Eve joined her housemates in one last cheer as Oliver Wood hoisted the Cup above his head.

_Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor!_

__

Snape watched the match with growing anticipation, his inner turmoil growing as Slytherin kept missing goals and Gryffindor kept making them. He found it hard to keep control of himself, letting his students doing the screaming for him. Slytherin's twenty points did give some hope, but points didn't matter as long as Slytherin got the Snitch first.

As Malfoy dove for the Snitch, Snape leaned forward slightly. Malfoy was no great shakes as a Seeker, but Potter hadn't spotted it, that Gryffindor chivalry preoccupying him. That is, until he began to dive as well.

Malfoy was reaching for the Snitch, Potter alongside... _Grab it, Malfoy!_ Snape thought, hearing his students giving voice to the same the same prayer beside him.

From where he stood he could see Potter knock Malfoy's arm out of the way and grab the Snitch. The taste of victory turned bitter in his mouth as the Gryffindors went wild and the Slytherin students sagged, dejected, to their seats or exploded in anger.

Snape turned to his students and ordered them to wait, knowing he'd rather die than slink away, beaten, the victors' cheer ringing in his ears, and expecting the same of his students. Thank God Minerva was too busy bawling like a child to look his way. One look of triumph from her and he may have ignored his pride. It was bad enough that he would have to deal with her gloating for the next few weeks. Gryffindors really could be insufferable winners, for all their noble ideals. 

Few Slytherins watched the Cup being presented to the Gryffindor team, turning to talk to their housemates. Snape watched the children, ready to nip any truly awful behaviour in the bud. Besides, he didn't want to see Potter's triumphant grin any more than he already had.

The Cup presented, the students began filing back to the school, Snape making at least some attempt to keep the Slytherins away from the Gryffindors, though he didn't try very hard. Most of the Gryffindors were in too good a mood to leave the pitch for a few minutes yet, anyway.

Falling back in the crowd, however, he saw Eve Berger making her way back with a few other Gryffindors. She was grinning from ear-to-ear, though she had to have remembered her detention as she was leaving before most of the rest of her house. 

The sight irked him, and he barked, Berger--detention in five minutes! He saw her smile dampen before he quickly strode down to his dungeons.

Casting aside the wards, he threw open the door to his supply cabinet, grabbing two large jars of Malaysian Dung Beetles. Berger hated insects, and these beetles were particularly disgusting, especially when crushed by hand. Thumping the jars on one of the desks along with a smallish mortar and pestle, he grabbed an empty jar and cheesecloth-lined funnel. Straining dung beetle juice seemed like a good punishment after she had successfully completed her potion from the day before.

Snape had just seated himself at his desk and bent his head over a pile of papers when Berger crept in, carrying her cauldron and a roll of parchment.

Complete your potion from yesterday _accurately_, then crush and strain those, he said coldly and pointed to the jars, You won't leave until you've completed both to my standards.

He allowed himself the satisfaction of seeing her turn green as she looked at the beetles, then bent over his marking again.

Somewhat to his surprise she was silent during the tutorial, not even making the usual little unconscious noises she usually did. No thinking aloud as she completed her spoiled potion, no quiet expressions of disgust as she crushed the beetles into a foul-smelling brown pulp. Her potion was completed to the letter this time, and only once did he have to tell her to crush the beetles finer. Her face was as expressive as ever and she made no attempt to hide her revulsion. But at least she was quiet, obviously discomfited by her findings as not once did she even glance at him. That was fine with him. Obviously she was uncomfortable in his presence, and he was glad for it. Intimidation was a fine tool to make others wary of you, and to obey.

When she was finished Snape looked at her potion and the now-full jar or beetle extract from where he was.

I suppose that will do. Bottle that potion and clean up, then leave your parchment with me. Dismissed, he said shortly. She cleaned up quickly, sliding the parchment on his desk without looking at him, then hurried out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

From then on, every tutorial was completed in similar silence, with as little communication as possible. As the days, then weeks passed and there were no whispers among the students or teachers, Snape could allow himself to relax. She had not told anyone as she'd promised. Apparently Dumbledore was right--at least in that instance. Snape still couldn't stand the fact that he had been forced into trusting her, but begrudgingly allowed her that attribute. It was one of the very few likeable things he found in her.

With Easter holidays over, the time seemed to speed up like a train going down a grade: all downhill toward exams and the end of the year. Eve worked feverishly to finish all her assignments and essays in-between her extra tutorials, staying up later and later as due dates approached ever faster. As June approached, the warm spring air seemed to be trying to lure her outside the castle, and she got in the habit of working in a dark corner of the library or leaving her drapes closed so that she couldn't stare out the window. Erik was sulking both from her inattention to him and his discomfort from the warm weather, and spent most of his time sleeping under her bed where it was cooler.

Finally her assignments were handed in, exam week arrived, and the castle settled under an eerie hush. The common room was silent in the evenings, save the low buzz of students murmuring to themselves as they studied, or the moans of those that were certain they'd failed. Eve had exams all week, both the usual first-year exams as well as extras, sometimes performing the same tasks as the second-years. In most of her classes her tutorials should have allowed her to finish the second-year curriculum, and depending on whether she passed, she should be able to join some of the third-year classes the next September. She was planning on taking Care of Magical Creatures and though she had been tempted to take Muggle Studies, Professor McGonagall had given her a stern look when she'd simply joked about it, and Eve had decided on Ancient Runes instead.

By the time Thursday of exam week rolled around, her second-last day, she was exhausted. After her afternoon exam in Herbology, she raced back to her room, then flopped on her bed, her brain still trying to confirm whether she'd answered the questions on the written exam correctly. She was reasonably certain she'd passed the second-year exams for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Herbology, dead certain she would pass History of Magic the next afternoon. Potions, Transfiguration and Astronomy, however... Perhaps she'd squeaked by in Transfiguration (literally, she'd been asked to change a rat into a shoe), but she was dreading her results for the other two.

She could almost hear her mother saying, "Well, at least they're almost over, nothing you can do now about those you've finished," as she had for every exam week, but as usual the thought didn't stop Eve from worrying. It did, however, remind her that she'd not owled her parents in a week and after changing out of her uniform to more comfortable clothes, she sat down to write a letter. She had to hurry; it was nearly dinnertime, and she couldn't be outside Gryffindor Tower afterwards. The curfew imposed after Black had broken in for the second time still hadn't been lifted and she didn't want to get in trouble this soon before the end of the year. Besides, she still needed to study for History of Magic.

She finished her letter, sealed it, then ran it to the owlery and dispatched it with barely enough time to get to dinner. The Great Hall was much noisier, now that exams were almost over. Most of the students were finished, only a few upper year students still silent and pensive. 

After dinner the houses marched back up to their dormitories, those that were finished ready to finally relax and have some fun.

No one noticed that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger did not return to Gryffindor Tower with the rest of their housemates.


	16. Through the Willow

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: Well here it is, another of the canon-event chapters. I would like to state again, that obviously the dialogue in this chapter is NOT MINE. JKR wrote it, and it is her text that inspired much of my elaboration on what might have been going through Snape's mind during this scene in PoA. She deserves all the credit, not me. This chapter and part of the next are the last where I will have to reproduce her work, thank God--writing to canon can really be a pain in the butt. However, I _did_ want to explore what Snape's perspective would be on PoA, as well as to get Eve set up in a year without the whole Voldemort's return scenario to deal with as well.

So again: Not mine. Never was. Never will be. I merely grovel at JKR's feet, praying that some divine entity may bless me enough to bestow upon me even a mere fraction of her genius.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 16: Through the Willow**

After dinner Snape returned to his dungeons and his pile of marking. He would be very glad once exams were finished and marks handed in; probably about as excited as the students. Until then there was more than enough to do, rewriting his notes on the practical exams and making little red marks all over the theoretical ones. He had to admit to a slight feeling of satisfaction when he marked Berger's second-year exam and found it lacking. She was had probably completed about seventy-five percent of the second-year curriculum, something which would be remedied soon enough when she returned the following September, but he had to admit he found a certain glee in writing down a failing grade for her. It would be worth seeing her bubble burst for the extra work it would cause him next year. He hoped that he'd be able to do the same for Potter and his friends, but it seemed unlikely in Granger's case. 

He was so intent on his marking that it was not until his clock chimed nine that a more pressing engagement came back to him. It was nearly a full moon--Lupin needed his Wolfsbane Potion. There were quite a few hours left before it would be truly needed, but it was obviously not wise to leave it to the last minute. 

Cursing his uncharacteristic forgetfulness, Snape jumped up from his desk and quickly unlocked his private store cupboard. Luckily there was still a cauldronful of the potion left from the last batch, which would only take a few minutes to heat. 

Once the potion had simmered for about ten minutes, Snape decanted some into a goblet and carried it up to Lupin's office. Snape knocked, but there was no answer. He knocked again; still no reply. Not even the sound of someone moving about in the room beyond. 

For a moment he wondered if Lupin had transformed already, but immediately dismissed the thought. The moon had not risen yet and would not actually reach full for another two hours. Snape reached out and took hold of the doorknob, wondering if luck would be in his favour and Lupin hadn't locked it. 

Luck smiled on him and the knob turned easily, the door swinging open to reveal a brightly lit but completely empty room. 

Snape stepped into Lupin's office, calling his name, but receiving no reply. Obviously Lupin wasn't in. Well, there was little he could do about it but go back to his marking and hope that Lupin would be back before moonrise. 

But as he placed the goblet on Lupin's desk, he saw something which made him stop. A familiar-looking piece of parchment lay on Lupin's desk, the writing at the top striking a chord within him. 

"The Marauders' Map". The Marauders...the nickname that James Potter and his friends had used for their little quartet of mischief-makers. He had been right! When he'd caught Potter with that piece of parchment months ago, he'd been certain that he remembered the names Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs from his school days, had been certain they'd had something to do with James Potter's crowd! 

Snape took a second look at the map, studying it more closely this time. He could easily see that it showed Hogwarts and its environs. More peculiar however was the fact that it was covered with moving, labelled dots, presumably to represent people in the castle. There was a small dot labelled "Severus Snape" standing in the room marked "Lupin's Office", exactly where he was standing. Glancing around the map he saw one dot moving quickly across the grounds toward the Whomping Willow. In the instant before the dot went into the Willow and disappeared, he was able to read the label hovering by it: "Remus Lupin". 

_That was how Black was getting onto Hogwarts' grounds!_ Snape had never known where that tunnel led to, had thought it was a dead-end, but now the thought occurred to him that it couldn't be, that there had to be another entrance off the grounds where Black could get in. 

Not bothering to lock the door behind him, Snape ran out of Lupin's office and down to one of the many side entrances to the school that he knew of. Running across the grounds, he muttered a _Lumos_, and almost immediately spotted something lying on the grass that seemed to shimmer in the dim light of his wand tip. He picked it up, and the cloth seemed to flow like a liquid as it moved. Shaking it out, he could see that it was a kind of cloak, though made of no material he'd ever seen before. 

A thought struck him and he quickly wrapped the cloak about him, looking down and watching as his body seemed to ripple and fade away, leaving only the sight of the grass under his feet. 

It was an Invisibility Cloak--_Potter's Invisibility Cloak._ He had long wondered how Potter--both Junior and Senior--could move around the castle without being seen. How James Potter and friends had managed to overhear things Snape had said when he had been certain they weren't anywhere near. How Harry had managed to appear headless in front of Malfoy in Hogsmeade earlier that year. By that time he had been certain that somehow Potter must have gotten his hands on something like the cloak he was wearing at that very moment. It wasn't hard to figure out how. James Potter's family had been incredibly wealthy, and it wasn't much of a stretch that someone in that family could have bought such an expensive item with all that wizarding gold. 

Snape looked back at the willow, a sense of triumph surging through him. For once, Potter's little tricks had worked in his favour. Not only would he have Black and Lupin red-handed, he would also have an even greater element of surprise. He could stand right behind them and they would never know he was there, just as he hadn't, years before. The tables had definitely turned, and Snape loved the feeling. 

Pulling up the hood on the cloak he found a long stick, then prodded the knothole on the willow's trunk, just as Black had told him to all those years before. Though of course Black hadn't told him directly. He'd staged a conversation in one of the classrooms with one of his accomplices, probably Potter, though no one else had spoken in the little Snape had heard. Black had said that Lupin had gone through the willow. "He didn't waste any time after prodding the knot, though. Seemed to be in a big hurry." After hearing that, Snape had run down to the willow, prodded the knot and went in. Even all these years later, as he waited for the willow to open, he had to mentally kick himself for not suspecting that it was all a setup from Black's tone of voice, the way he'd said it, purposely telling Snape how to get in. 

The flailing branches shuddered to a halt as the roots parted, opening to form an arch over a dark hole. The sight felt so familiar, though he had seen it only once before, and that had been two decades before. 

Something in him urged him to stay back, to not go, something that remembered all too well what had happened the last time he was in that tunnel. But he would not listen, propelling himself forward toward whatever dangers lay ahead. The roots shut behind him with an ominous rumble, leaving him with only his wand for a light, the darkness beyond it impenetrable. 

Snape walked down the few steps to the bottom of the passage, the low ceiling forcing him to bend over so that he didn't hit his head. It hadn't seemed that low last time--but then the last time he was in the passage, he'd been sixteen, not yet fully grown though still tall for his age. He stopped for a moment as he reached the bottom of the stairs, listening. He thought he heard footsteps much further down the passage, but after a moment heard nothing. If there had been footsteps, they were heading away from him. 

Moving as silently as possible he swiftly made his way down the passage, following its every dip and turn. His heart was pounding in his ears as he followed the meandering path, but not just because of what he expected to find at the end of it. Everything around him seemed so familiar; the stale, damp smell of the tunnel, the sound of his footsteps on the rough dirt floor. Though he had only been in it once before in his life, and that nearly twenty years before, the experience had burned itself on his brain, etching every detail of it into his memory. He wasn't sure what was testing his courage more, the thought of the werewolf and murderer at the end of the tunnel, or his own memories. But within fifteen minutes of following the tunnel he reached a spot where he wasn't sure of what lay beyond the next turn--this was a far as he'd got that last time. 

He had never found out where the passage led. Groping along in the dark, moving along as fast as he could, not knowing what Lupin was, Snape had hurried on, not knowing that the werewolf could probably have heard him coming miles away--that Lupin _had_ heard him coming. He hadn't been through his years of spying yet, didn't know how to move with a minimum of noise. Instead he had barrelled down the tunnel paying little heed to the racket he was making as his footsteps hit the hard earth and he stumbled over tree roots. 

The werewolf had come in search of him, moving much more quietly than Snape was, and a lot faster. Snape hadn't known what was coming, only at the last minute had heard the faint snarling and the sound of soft footsteps approaching. He hadn't known what was heading in his direction until he'd walked around a corner and Lupin had wandered into the light of his wand. 

As Snape saw what Lupin had become he'd frozen in his tracks, forgotten all those curses he'd learned. In that moment he had realized that Black had tricked him and that he would die because of it. Would die without being able to see Black punished, would likely have his death explained away as an accident, or have the entire incident blamed on himself. He hadn't doubted that Black would rewrite the tale to any listeners so that it was entirely Snape's own fault. In the moment when he'd come to the realization that he was going to die, he felt a hatred like no other he'd ever experienced, a complete and utter loathing of Black, Lupin, Potter and Pettigrew that he would never forget, or forgive. 

All that had passed through his mind in a second, from the moment he saw the werewolf to the moment when Potter had yanked him backwards, pushed him toward the other end of the tunnel and yelled at him to run. The spell holding him had been broken, but his hatred hadn't. It had burned in him as he ran down the tunnel, not looking back. As he ran straight to Dumbledore's office hoping to find justice there, and finding none. Dumbledore had given lip service to punishing Black, had lauded Potter for being so bloody brave (though Snape was convinced that Potter was in on it) and had told Snape sternly that he wasn't to tell anyone about Lupin's condition. Snape was the one who had nearly been murdered by Potter's gang, and he was the one who had been admonished. His trust in Dumbledore had broken then, and would remain that way for five years, until he himself was in need of Dumbledore's trust. 

But this time, as Snape made his way along the passage, there was no far-off sound of animal snarling or of soft footsteps hurrying toward him. Instead, he thought he heard the sound of voices. 

Quickening his pace he soon felt the tunnel angling upwards and he crept forward, taking care that he didn't make any noise which would give him away. He exited the tunnel and found himself in a hallway, faint shafts of light falling from boarded-up windows. In the dust on the floor he could see recent footprints, as well as a wide swath where the floor was completely dust-free. Someone had dragged something along the hallway. He tiptoed over to one of the windows and peered between the boards, the lights of Hogsmeade visible a short distance away. With a jolt he realized where he was: the Shrieking Shack. 

The voices were coming from upstairs, and he carefully moved toward them, dousing his wand and using what little light filtered through the windows as well as his hands to guide his movements. With a caution he'd learned as a spy, he placed his feet at the edges of the stairs where the wall and banister would offer more structural support and they would be less likely to creak and give him away. Even still, he carefully tested his weight on each stair, holding his breath each time. 

Finally he reached the top of the staircase, and listened for a moment. The voices were coming from a room to his left, right at the top of the stairs. As he listened, he suddenly heard a voice that hit him like a stunning spell: Black's voice. Though it had been almost two decades since he had last that voice, he had no doubt about who it belonged to. 

The door to the room was nearly closed, Snape had to find a way to see into the room before he could plan what to do next, but how could he see in without drawing attention to himself? Invisibility Cloak or not, certainly everyone in the room would notice if the door banged open, and it very well might spook Black and Lupin into doing something drastic. 

From inside he heard Black tell Lupin, "If you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus. I've waited twelve years, I'm not going to wait much longer." The tone of rage was unmistakable--Snape knew he had to act quickly. 

Lupin had started talking but Snape didn't hear what was said, the sound of the blood pounding in his ears drowning it out. Prodding the door gently with his finger, it swung open slowly with a loud creak, exactly the action he was hoping for. Immediately he flattened himself against the wall; and just in the nick of time too, as Lupin stepped into the doorway moments later. Had Snape not moved Lupin would have run right into him. 

Lupin looked to either side and Snape stiffened as Lupin looked directly at him. Even though he knew Lupin couldn't see him, it was still unnerving to have someone look in his direction. But the Invisibility Cloak worked its magic, Lupin looking around warily before uttering a low, "No one's there..." 

From inside he could hear a voice say, "This place is haunted!"--_Weasley,_ he thought--and Snape saw Lupin give a small shudder before turning back into the room. 

Snape was right on Lupin's heels, ducking into a shadowy corner beside the door as soon as he entered the room so that no one would see his footprints in the dust. He only half-listened as Lupin started telling the sob story about how he'd become a werewolf, too busy taking a good look around the room. Weasley was sitting at the head of a dusty four-poster bed, one leg sticking out at a slightly odd angle--broken, obviously. Potter and Granger flanked him, wands in their hands but certainly not at the ready. _Lupin or Black must have bewitched them, even Granger isn't stupid enough to not have her wand pointing at either the murderer or the werewolf,_ Snape thought. At the other end of the bed was the one person he hadn't ever planned on seeing again: Sirius Black. Black's hair was long and ragged, his face gaunt and twisted with rage. Snape had to feel some small twinge of ironic pleasure at seeing him so altered; all those taunts Black had launched at him years ago now applied to Black himself, who had once been so proud of his appearance. 

Finally, there was Lupin, who was pacing near Snape's hiding spot. Instinctively Snape trained his wand on Lupin. Lupin might have been wandless, but he was also a fully grown wizard and nearer to Snape than any of the others, therefore posing more of a threat. 

Keeping his attention on Lupin, Snape listened to the werewolf's story, finding it rather hard to keep from revealing himself. He certainly didn't want to have to listen to the werewolf ramble on, but he needed to wait until Lupin or Black stated their intention of what they were going to do, or made a first move. He needed to apprehend them at an incriminating moment, so that he could have some proof against Lupin from the man's own lips. Only then would Dumbledore actually believe that he had been mistaken in trusting him. 

Lupin was telling how Potter, Black and Pettigrew had become Animagi, something which Snape found both surprising and not surprising in the least. If he had to pick anyone to become illegal Animagi, those three would have been his first candidates. However, he still had to feel somewhat surprised that they had gone so far as to break Wizarding World laws, not just school ones. Then again, they had treated school rules so lightly that it probably shouldn't have been at all astonishing that they had broken government ones as well, or that they had actually had the audacity to walk around Hogsmeade at night, a werewolf in tow. Obviously whatever charm the two collaborators had used to put the children under their spell was not entirely effective on Granger, as she admonished them for doing something so dangerous, and for a moment Snape almost felt proud of her. Almost. 

Lupin made some pathetic statement of regret of what he'd done, but Snape certainly didn't buy any of it. Lupin had not felt so awful as to tell Dumbledore about what his gang had done in their school days, and though Lupin said he'd been battling within himself about telling the headmaster, Snape doubted it had been anything so dramatic. Had he really felt guilty about it Lupin certainly would have told Dumbledore. It would have been the only right thing to do, particularly after Black had gained entrance to the castle. Keeping the secret was obviously putting all the students in danger, which was inexcusable. 

"So in a way, Snape's been right about me all along," Lupin said, just as Snape was thinking the same thing. 

Black's head popped up. "Snape? What's Snape got to do with it?" 

Lupin informed Black that Snape was a teacher at the school, and Snape could instantly see Black's face change into a sneer. 

"Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He had been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons...you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me--" 

Black gave a snort and the smirk on his face made Snape want to throttle him. 

"It served him right. Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to...hoping he could get us expelled..." 

Lupin began explaining their prank to the children, but Snape paid little heed to what he was saying, too busy trying to keep himself in check. He could walk right across the room, wrap his hands around Black's scrawny neck and choke him to death, watch him gasp for breath and stare blindly at an attacker he couldn't see while the others gawped. The temptation to do so was great, none would blame him for killing Black then and there. He was wanted dead or alive, would be given the Dementors' Kiss as soon as he was captured. Why not save them the trouble? Why not kill him then and there? 

But as the thought crept through his mind Snape discarded it. No, he wanted Black to see who his captor was, wanted Black to realize that Snape's "sneaking around" had finally ended the way it should: in Black being brought to justice. He just had to keep his wand on Lupin and wait for the right moment... 

The moment came, surprisingly enough, through Harry Potter. "So that's why Snape doesn't like you, because he thought you were in on the joke?" 

"That's right," Snape replied, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak with a flick of his wrist. 

The effect was just what Snape had hoped. The others looked looked incredibly shocked as they turned to see him appear out of thin air. Granger yelped in surprise and Potter gave a small jump, while Black was immediately on his feet. 

Snape tossed the Invisibility Cloak to one side, allowing himself a quick glance at Potter and Black before fixing his eyes on Lupin once more. Despite his usual self control, he couldn't help but smile triumphantly at the thought that he finally had caught Black red handed, that he would finally gain justice. 

"I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow. Very useful, Potter, I thank you. You're wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here? I've just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your Potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did...lucky for me, I mean," Snape said, his smile growing a little wider at that, "Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight." 

Lupin tried to interject but Snape wasn't about to let him. He wasn't going to run the risk of being Confunded himself; or that Lupin would spoil his moment. 

"I've told the Headmaster again and again that you've been helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof. Not even I dreamed that you'd use this old place as your hideout--" 

"Severus, you're making a mistake, Sirius is not here to kill Harry--" 

But Snape wasn't about to listen to any more explanations, had been hearing them far too long. His heart was pounding wildly with the adrenaline coursing through him, his mind entirely focussed on a single idea, the thought that Black would finally get what was coming to him, and that he, Severus Snape, would be the one to make it happen. Even the thought of how Dumbledore would take this news was not enough to dull his feeling of triumph. "Two more for Azkaban tonight. I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this...he was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin...a tame werewolf," he continued, unable to resist letting a sneer cross his lips. 

Lupin looked at him suddenly with that flat stare Snape had seen earlier that year, and when he spoke it was with the calm tone that had always gotten under Snape's skin. "You fool... Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?" 

Snape's temper flared and ropes spouted from the end of his wand without him even having to speak the spell; the thought was strong enough. The ropes wound around Lupin like an attacking boa constrictor and he toppled to the floor, immobilized and silenced by his bonds. 

Out of the corner of his eye Snape saw movement, just at the same Black gave a yell of rage. Instinctively, Snape turned, his wand pointing directly between Black's hatred-filled eyes before Black could get within three feet of him. 

For a moment Snape simply glared at Black with all the loathing that had built within him, before issuing one threat unlike those he usually gave; one that he was more than willing and able to follow up on. 

"Give me a reason... Give me a reason to do it and I swear I will," he said in a forceful whisper. 

There was a dead silence, then a voice spoke up: Granger's, which came as no surprise. 

"Professor Snape, it--it wouldn't hurt to hear what they've got to say, would it?" 

Snape was in no mood to bear with her butting in where she wasn't needed. To be lectured by a student at a time like this! 

"Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school," Snape said in a voice that would have any student quaking in their shoes, "You, Potter and Weasley are out of bounds in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in you life, _hold your tongue_." 

"But if--if there was a mistake--" 

Snape's temper snapped. "_Keep quiet you stupid girl! Don't talk about what you don't understand!_" A few sparks popped from his wand tip and Snape saw Black go cross-eyed to watch them fall just short of his face. Black raised his eyes once more until they were staring directly at one another. 

"Vengeance is very sweet... How I hoped I would be the one to catch you..." Snape said, the triumphant smile creeping back onto his face. 

"The joke's on you again, Severus. As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle, I'll come quietly," Black growled, tilting his head in Weasley's direction. 

"Up to the castle? I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the Dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black...want to give you a little kiss I daresay..." 

It was worth any risk Snape had taken that night to see the colour leave Black's face. "You--you've got to hear me out... The rat--look at the rat--" 

But there was no way Snape was about to do anything Black suggested, no way he would let Black trick him again, or spoil his moment. 

With a click of his fingers, the ropes that bound Lupin were in Snape's hands. It was time to end this little drama once and for all. 

"Come on, all of you. I'll drag the werewolf, perhaps the Dementors will have a little kiss for him too..." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter stand up, but instead of leaving the room, the little brat stood at the door, blocking it. 

"Get out of the way, Potter, you're in enough trouble already. If I hadn't been here to save your skin--" 

"Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year, I've been alone with him loads of times, having defence lessons against the Dementors. If he was helping Black why didn't he just finish me off then?" 

_Once a Potter, always a Potter, too ungrateful to see a helping hand when it's staring him in the face..._ Snape thought. Aloud, all he said was, "Don't ask me to fathom the way a werewolf's mind works. Get out of the way, Potter!" 

Potter was now looking back at Snape with the same sort of hatred Black was showing, and the sight made Snape's blood boil. 

"_You're pathetic! Just because they made a fool of you at school, you won't even listen_--" Potter shouted. 

"SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!" Snape yelled, risking a single venomous glance at Potter. He looked so like his father, Snape could almost hear Potter senior asking Dumbledore how he could trust Snape's word that the Secret-Keeper had turned, that Voldemort knew where James and Lily were hiding... 

"Like father like son, Potter," Snape spat, "I have just saved your neck, you should be thanking me on bended knee! You'd have been well served if he'd killed you! You'd have died just like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black! Now get out of the way or I will _make_ you--GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!" 

Snape turned, perfectly ready and willing to hex Potter out of his way, but he wasn't quite fast enough. Suddenly there was a unified shout of "_Expelliarmus!_" and he felt the spell hitting him in the chest with enough force to blast him off his feet. Slamming into something hard, a burst of light exploded in front of his eyes as an intense pain pierced his skull and the world winked out to blackness.


	17. Dumbledore's Betrayal

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

Author's Note: OK, here it is--the last of the chapters which leans on canon, and by far the absolute hardest to write. I would like to state again, that obviously the dialogue and the actions in this chapter are NOT MINE. JKR wrote it, and it is her text that inspired much of my elaboration on what might have been going through Snape's mind during this scene in PoA. She deserves _all_ the credit, not me. I simply wanted to explore Snape's emotions and thoughts during this scene, and felt that the only way I could do that was to reproduce some of the book here. I've tried to pad it out, fill in some blanks, but it was JKR that drew the picture--I just coloured between the lines. Trust me, doing it this way by no means made it easier.

So again. Not mine. Never was. Never will be. I merely grovel at JKR's feet, praying that some divine entity may bless me enough to bestow upon me even a mere fraction of her genius.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 17: Dumbledore's Betrayal**

Snape woke with a start as he felt himself land on a marginally soft surface, a fresh burst of pain pounding at his temples with the jolt. Gritting his teeth against the migraine throbbing in his skull, he sat up and opened his eyes. 

He was sitting on the lush grass of the Hogwarts grounds, his wand lying a few feet away near the crumpled form of Ron Weasley. How on earth had he got out here? The last thing he remembered was heading down the tunnel he'd seen on the map--_the Map. Potter, Lupin, Black in the Shrieking Shack... What on earth happened there?_ Snape thought. His memory was hazy, and as he stood and fetched his wand, conjuring a stretcher for Weasley, he searched his memory for anything that would explain what had occurred. Small flashes of memory returned to him, an image, a voice. Himself threatening Black at wandpoint, Lupin bound and gagged, Potter standing in a doorway, three voices in unison... _Three voices--Potter, Weasley and Granger_. That was who had attacked him, he was certain. Lupin had been bound, Black had been wandless, and the fact that Snape was still alive proved to him that Black couldn't have taken his wand. Those three were the only others it could be, only they had wands and it would have taken all three to knock him out, Snape was certain, though he couldn't remember exactly what had happened. 

Looking around him he saw the Dementors walking across the lawn, far enough away that they couldn't affect him. It looked as though they were coming from the lake... 

Guiding Weasley's stretcher with his wand, Snape hurried around the castle and down the embankment to the lake, moving faster when he saw three figures lying motionless on the grass: Potter, Black and Granger. Lupin was nowhere to be seen, but with the full moon guiding Snape's way, there was little doubt what had happened to him. 

Snape reached Potter first, touching the boy's face and finding the skin warm, the eyes closed; he hadn't been Kissed then, only made unconscious by the effects of the Dementors. On further inspection, Granger and Black seemed to be likewise unconscious but still in possession of their souls. None had the cold, clammy skin or the wide, staring eyes and horrified expressions of those that had had their souls sucked out of them. Not that he would have minded Black's being Kissed, but at least this way he would have the pleasure of presenting a live Black to the Ministry. 

Quickly conjuring stretchers for the three others (binding Black first, of course), Snape hurried them back to the castle. He was running up the steps to the front doors when they burst open, Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey and Cornelius Fudge all hurrying down to meet him. 

"Are they-- Did the Dementors--?" Fudge spluttered, looking at the stretchers in horror, no doubt already seeing the _Daily Prophet_ headlines in his mind. Snape shook his head and both Fudge and Pomfrey sighed in relief. Pomfrey took over the children, guiding them to the hospital wing while Dumbledore turned to Snape. 

"We can keep Black in Professor Flitwick's office. Cornelius, I assume you want to inform the ministry of Black's capture?" Fudge nodded. "Use my office then, the password is 'Fizzing Whizzbee'." 

"Thank you, Albus. They'll be glad to hear that we've finally got Black under wraps again, a great load off everyone's mind," Fudge said, then, nodding to Snape, hurried up the stairs. Dumbledore waited until Fudge had a long head start before beckoning for Snape to follow. 

"What do you remember?" Dumbledore asked, striding up the stairs quickly for a man of his age. Snape was finding it somewhat hard to keep up, due to his headache and the stretcher, but tried not to show it. He couldn't help but sound a little winded as he explained all that he remembered, from his finding Potter's map on Lupin's desk until the point where Dumbledore and company entered the scene. Snape had been expecting some expression of gratitude from Dumbledore about his interference, but if anything the Headmaster simply looked increasingly puzzled, particularly when Snape described his waking to find himself at Hogwarts, and finding Black, Potter and Granger by the lake. 

As they spoke they climbed the stairs all the way to the seventh floor and strode down the hall to Flitwick's office, Dumbledore pausing Snape in his narrative only to unlock the door. Snape levitated Black from his stretcher to a chair, then altered Black's bindings so he was tied to the chair's arms and legs. 

Moments later, Fudge reappeared, looking well satisfied. "Well, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was very pleased to hear that we'd caught Black at last and gave his personal approval for Black's execution. Good thing we got him when we did--should stop all those letters to the _Daily Prophet_ about how we haven't been doing our jobs and all that. Load off all our minds, eh Dumbledore?" 

"Indeed it is, Cornelius," Dumbledore replied, though to Snape he looked suspiciously unenthusiastic, "Someone will need to fetch the Dementors, then. Severus, you should have that cut seen to. I can look after Black for now. I doubt he'll be waking any time soon." 

Snape looked closely at Dumbledore, doubt building within him. The headmaster was up to something, he was sure of it. "Are you certain, headmaster? Shouldn't someone stay--" 

Dumbledore waved away Snape's concerns. "No, no. Go, both of you. I will be perfectly safe." 

Snape turned and walked out of the room with reluctance, following Fudge who was already chattering away. 

"Well, all's well that ends well, as they say. Here, come with me, will you? I can see how the children are doing while you're seen to, and then we've only to find MacNair and ask him to fetch the Dementors. MacNair will be glad to hear this news--he was rather disappointed about the escape of that Hippogriff, Black's capture will brighten his day. Tell me, what happened, exactly?" 

Snape launched into the story again, interrupted by their reaching the hospital wing. Pomfrey was still hurrying about tending to the children, so Snape and Fudge stood outside, talking quietly. 

"This has been a shocking business, simply shocking. It's a miracle that none of them died, I've never heard the like of this, even in all the years I've been Minister of Magic. By thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape. If you hadn't been, who knows what would have come of it?" Fudge rambled. 

"Thank you, Minister," Snape said, bowing slightly. 

"This sort of action deserves at least an Order of Merlin, Second Class--First Class, if I can wangle it." 

Snape swelled with pride and found it hard to keep a smile off his face. The Order of Merlin! No one would be able to doubt his loyalties then, perhaps he would finally get his due... 

"Thank you very much indeed, Minister," he replied calmly. 

"Only fitting, going beyond your duty, and being injured in the process. Nasty cut you've got there. Black's work I suppose?" 

"As a matter of fact, it was Potter, Weasley and Granger, Minister." 

The look of shock on Fudge's face was priceless. "_No!_" he said, horrified. 

Again Snape found it hard to keep from smiling as he told Fudge how the children had obviously been bewitched, hinting at how things could have gone dangerously wrong with the children's involvement. "They've got away with a great deal before now, I'm afraid it's given them a rather high opinion of themselves. And of course Potter has always been allowed and extraordinary amount of licence by the Headmaster." 

"Ah, well, Snape, Harry Potter you know... We've all got a bit of a blind spot where he's concerned." 

"And yet, is it good for him to be given special treatment? Personally I try to treat him like any other student..." Snape was pleased to see the Minister waffling as he did his best to convince Fudge that Potter should be reigned in. With any luck the Minister might mention something to Dumbledore about it. 

Fudge asked for the rest of the story and so Snape launched into it again, describing how he'd found the others by the lake, the Dementors retreating. Fudge had started praising Snape's actions again when he was interrupted by a cry within the hospital wing. 

Fudge was first to hurry in and Snape followed closely at his heels. By virtue of his height he could see around Fudge, and saw both Potter and Granger arguing with Pomfrey, pleading to see the Headmaster, insisting that Black was innocent. Fudge started talking to the children as though they were half-witted, something Snape found rather amusing to watch. Both of them, though obviously not right in their mind, were still acting like themselves; Potter letting his temper get the better of him while Granger pleaded more calmly. Granger would have had the better chance of convincing Fudge, were she not obviously Confunded as well, something Snape couldn't resist pointing out. 

"WE'RE NOT CONFUNDED!" Potter shouted, obviously learning nothing from Granger's example. 

"Minister! Professor!" Madam Pomfrey interrupted, rounding on the two adults as though she was reprimanding another pair of children, "I must insist that you leave. Potter is my patient and he should not be distressed!" 

Potter protested, but Pomfrey stuffed a chunk of chocolate in his mouth and tried to lead the two children back to bed. She had almost succeeded when the door opened again. Immediately Potter was back on his feet, and Snape turned to see Dumbledore walk in. There was something about the Headmaster's expression that Snape did not like one bit; his expression was one of concern but there was the ghost of an expression in his eyes that made Snape think he was planning something. 

Potter started his protests afresh. "Professor Dumbledore, Sirius Black--" 

"For heaven's sake! Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster I must insist--" Pomfrey started, obviously losing her temper. 

Dumbledore's voice was suspiciously calm. "My apologies Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. I have just been talking to Sirius Black--" 

Immediately Snape's hackles rose; what cause would Dumbledore have to be talking with a convicted murderer? 

"I suppose he's told you the same fairy tale he's planted in Potter's mind? Something about a rat and Pettigrew being alive--" Snape snapped. 

"That, indeed, is Black's story," Dumbledore replied, giving Snape a warning look. Though Snape knew it was meant to keep him from continuing, his temper was rapidly building along with the pounding in his head. He certainly wasn't going to give up without a fight--not in front of Fudge, Potter and Granger. 

"And does my evidence count for nothing? Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him in the grounds--" 

Of course, Granger simply had to butt her nose in where it wasn't wanted, yet again. "That was because you were knocked out, Professor, you didn't arrive in time to hear--" 

"Miss Granger, _hold your tongue!_" Snape said, unable to take Granger's meddling at that moment. 

Fudge jumped slightly at the sound of Snape's voice and started spluttering, trying to defuse the situation, but Dumbledore cut him off. 

"I would like to speak to Harry and Hermione alone. Cornelius, Severus, Poppy--please leave us," Dumbledore said, his voice forcibly calm. 

Snape paid little attention to Pomfrey's protests, too busy analysing Dumbledore's expression. He had seen that sort of calmness on Dumbledore's face before, and knew from experience that it was often deceptive. It was the expression the Headmaster used at moments of great urgency, when other people would have been losing their heads. Usually it was reassuring, a sign that the man in charge was remaining rational while others were panicked. At that moment, however, Snape could only feel a sense of foreboding. 

Pomfrey and Fudge left, the latter holding the door open for Snape, but he didn't move to leave. Not yet, not until he had better ascertained what Dumbledore was up to. Not until he'd made one last attempt to make Dumbledore see reason. 

"You surely don't believe Black's story?" Snape asked, watching Dumbledore like a hawk. He was well aware that Potter and Granger were listening to every word he said, but for the moment he didn't care. 

"I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," Dumbledore repeated. 

Snape's sense of foreboding grew, as did the throbbing at his temples. "Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen, you haven't forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven't forgotten that he once tried to kill _me_?" 

Dumbledore stared right back at him, his voice soft as he replied, "My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus." 

It was as clear an intimation that their discussion was over as if Dumbledore had said so in no uncertain terms. It wasn't the answer Snape had wanted to hear; naturally the Headmaster remembered the incident, but then he probably remembered his skewed view of the entire affair as well. 

Knowing that he wasn't going to get a straight answer, Snape quickly spun around and strode out the door, quickly brushing past Fudge, who walked quickly to keep up. Dumbledore was definitely up to something, though damned if he had a clue was it was. 

"Well, that was a shocking business, those children. At least it will be over soon enough--that is, as soon as we find MacNair. I believe he was in the staff room, do you know the fastest way to get there?" Fudge said. Snape nodded, and led the way down the staff room. 

They met MacNair on the way and as Fudge had said, he looked well pleased to assist in at least one execution, even if it wasn't the one he had prepared for. MacNair hurried off to fetch the Dementors, a grotesque smile on his face. Once MacNair had left, Snape and Fudge began heading back up to Flitwick's office to wait for the Dementors to arrive. There was no way Snape was going to miss this moment. Usually he disliked the Dementors and their methods intensely, due in no small part to the memories they conjured in him when they approached, but he found it hard to feel distaste at what he was about to see. Not when it concerned Sirius Black. Black had killed eleven people and had endangered the lives of many more. He deserved what was coming to him. 

Fudge, of course, couldn't let silence fall between them and prattled on as they made their winding way up to Flitwick's office. "Well, thank goodness no one was seriously hurt, and we'll have Black out of our hair soon. It will be such a relief to not have that threat hanging over our heads." 

"Indeed it will be. I only hope Dumbledore's not going to make difficulties. The Kiss will be performed immediately?" 

"As soon as MacNair returns with the Dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing, I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that we've got him at last. I daresay they'll want to interview you, Snape. And once young Harry's back in his right mind, I imagine he'll want to tell the _Prophet_ exactly how you saved him." 

Snape couldn't hide a small smirk. "No doubt. Though I should certainly hope that any other teacher would do as much in a similar situation. We are charged with guiding and protecting these children, not just educating them, after all." 

"Indeed, indeed. I'm certain that the parents of all these students will be reassured to read that in the _Prophet_, to know that their children are under your care, er...Severus, isn't it? You're a head of house, are you not?" 

"I am, Minister." 

"Which one, again?" 

"Slytherin." 

Fudge's brows furrowed and he turned to look at Snape as they reached Flitwick's office. "Really? Quite a challenge I imagine, that group. Must keep you on your toes." 

"No more so than the Gryffindors, certainly," Snape replied, perhaps a little testily. 

Fudge seemed to have picked up on Snape's unspoken response, and kept his mouth shut, instead turning to look down the corridor, apparently waiting for the others to show up. 

Dumbledore arrived a few minutes later, looking oddly relaxed, as though some worry had been taken off his mind. Snape would have taken a more careful look but MacNair and the Dementors appeared down the corridor a moment later, and Snape instead had to quash any pleasant thoughts, putting thoughts of the Order of Merlin and the _Daily Prophet_ out of his head. He didn't want to fall to pieces in front of the Minister of Magic. Luckily, there was little pleasure for them to feed on, and so had little effect on anyone at the moment. A few formalities were dispensed with, Fudge and Dumbledore checking over the Order of Execution. Finally Dumbledore lifted the wards on the door and walked in, followed by Fudge. 

Snape hurried in after, ready to see Black's terrified face staring up at him, but stopped in his tracks as he saw inside the room. 

_Black was gone._

The ropes that had bound him to the chair lay on the floor intact, the mullioned window swung open. 

_Black untied, window open, a hippogriff missing..._ The evidence added up in his head as quickly as the simplest mathematical problem, leaving the only possible answer: _Potter_. 

Snape stood there for one moment, his opportunity for recognition crumbling before his eyes, his headache intensifying, before he let out a roar of frustration and turned on his heel. He quickly strode out of the room, barely aware that Dumbledore and Fudge were following hard on his heels, one thing running through his mind: _This is Potter's doing!_

"Snape, where are you going? Black can't still be in the castle--" Fudge said as they neared the hospital wing. 

"He's not in the castle, and he had help getting out of it!" 

"He must have Disapparated, Severus, we should have left somebody in the room with him. When this gets out--" 

"He didn't Disapparate! You can't Apparate or Disapparate inside this castle! _This has something to do with Potter!_" 

Snape reached the door to the hospital wing and threw it open as Fudge prattled on. Snape paid little heed, instead making a beeline for Potter's bed. Potter was looking up at him with an innocent expression, which only served to make Snape even more furious. 

"_Out with it Potter, what did you do?_" Snape yelled, wanting nothing more than to grab Potter by the throat and choke the truth out of him. He no longer cared what Fudge thought, couldn't spare the consideration as to how this would appear. His moment had been yanked out from under his feet, his vindication, and someone was going to answer for it. 

Fudge and Madam Pomfrey both attempted to dissuade him, tell him that there was no way Potter and Granger could have done anything, but Snape wasn't listening. 

"They helped him escape, I know it!" He pointed at both the children, looking back at Fudge and Dumbledore with wild eyes. 

"Calm down, man! You're talking nonsense!" Fudge snapped, looking rather alarmed. 

Dumbledore spoke up, his voice deceptively calm. "That will do, Severus. Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the ward ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?" Pomfrey insisted that they hadn't. "Well there you have it, Severus. Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione can be in two places at once, I see no point in troubling them further." 

For a moment Snape looked at the others, dumb with frustration. _How on earth can Dumbledore believe--_

Then he saw it: that damned twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. The truth hit him like a rampaging hippogriff: Potter had set Black loose, _and Dumbledore had helped him do it!_

Anger and betrayal fought for supremacy within him, and after a moment of seething, Snape stormed out, hastily beating a retreat to his sanctuary in the dungeons. He had half a mind to write his resignation letter then and there. Dumbledore had always made it seem that he trusted Snape, that he listened to his opinion, but instead he didn't trust him at all. After everything he had done to prove himself to Dumbledore, after all his work, all his attempts at persuasion over the past year, Dumbledore still sided with his Gryffindors, over someone who had risked their own life in the Headmaster's cause. 

Casting aside the wards on his room, he pushed the door open with more force than was really necessary, slamming it behind him before setting the wards again. Unlocking his personal store cupboard, he fumbled among the various bottles before grabbing one that held a strong painkilling potion. He poured a little into a nearby goblet of water, and downed it quickly, ignoring the taste. He didn't care that it tasted like week-old socks, all he was concerned with was dulling his headache enough to sleep. It was easier said than done, particularly with the fury that still coursed through him. He hadn't felt this betrayed, this angry since that night when he was sixteen and Black had tried to kill him. Here he was, almost twenty years later, and nothing had changed. 

Unable to wait for the potion to take effect, Snape poured another gobletful of water and rummaged through his cupboard again, removing a bottle of powdered valerian root. Two pinches should do the trick--he used less in most of his sleeping potions, and this was in its purest form. Adding the powder to the water, he swirled it around for a moment before gulping it down. Within seconds he could feel the fatigue creeping up on him, and he barely managed to dress for bed and crawl between the sheets before he nodded off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"_Enervate!_" 

Snape woke with a start, eyes snapping open, his heart racing. It took him a second to realise that Dumbledore was leaning over him, wand out, concern lining his face. 

"Wh-what is it? What's happened?" Snape said, expecting that some emergency had occurred, half wondering if Black had turned up again. 

"Nothing is the matter, except that I was worried when you didn't wake. You have a concussion, Severus, and a rather bad one by the look of it. You shouldn't sleep more than an hour or two at a time," Dumbledore said, straightening a little. 

Snape wasn't in the mood to control his sarcasm. "How good of you to be concerned on my behalf," he replied, rubbing his eyes as he began to sit up. Dumbledore stopped him, however, gently touching his shoulder. Snape took the hint and lay back; considering his head has started pounding even harder as he'd moved, he was more than willing to rest his head on his pillow. Dumbledore had seen him in much worse shape on many other occasions, after all. Besides at this point he had so little dignity left that it seemed useless to try and conserve it. 

Dumbledore looked at Snape seriously for a moment. "I know you...disagree with me in regards to Sirius Black." 

Snape let out a small snort. "That would be a gross understatement. Sirius Black has proved himself capable of murder before. Why did he slash the portrait, then? Why was he looming over Weasley in the middle of the night brandishing a knife? Furthermore, how did he even escape in the first place? Even I don't know a spell that would allow one to sneak past Dementors." 

"Severus..." 

"And after everything he's done, you set him free, _simply based on his word_?" 

Dumbledore gave him a hard stare. "Alastor Moody said the same thing about you." 

Snape kept his mouth shut, though it took some effort to do it. Perhaps there were similarities, but then Snape hadn't acted as Black had. For one thing he'd never tried to kill anyone as a teenager. And he certainly hadn't acted like some bloodthirsty lunatic when _he_ came looking for justice. 

"Severus, I know there is little I can say to change your opinion. I believe Black for the same reasons I believed you when you came to me fifteen years ago. His actions may not have been very intelligent for those of an innocent man, but remember that he has been locked up in Azkaban prison for fourteen years. Would you have been able to act rationally in his situation?" 

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes flickering upward for a moment. His face seemed to sag for a moment, as though a large weight had just dropped on his shoulders, and for once he truly looked his age. 

"I know that for a long time you have held the belief that Black and his friends tried to kill you, but that was not the case. It was solely Black's doing, and it was a stupid, thoughtless, dangerous prank. Even if you cannot believe that Potter was not involved, you should at least absolve Remus Lupin. Do you know what the penalty is for a werewolf that kills someone? Can you believe that Lupin would seriously take that risk? 

"But even as a juvenile prank it was extremely foolish, and I...handled the situation badly. That is something I have regretted many times since that day, not least when I learned that you had joined Voldemort's forces." 

Dumbledore sighed again and when he spoke it was with finality. "I trust you, Severus, and I value your opinion. But in this case you did not have all the evidence. All I can ask is that you, in turn, trust me." 

Snape closed his eyes before Dumbledore could meet his gaze. It would be easier to hide his emotions from the Headmaster if he didn't make eye contact. Not that Snape was about to give up his position so easily. At the moment, he didn't even want to think about anything that had happened, he simply wanted to roll over and escape back into sleep. 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, before he felt Dumbledore place a hand on his shoulder once more. "You should get some more rest; I will wake you again in a couple hours." He could hear Dumbledore moving over to the fireplace, hear him mutter a spell and the rush of flames being conjured into existence. 

Despite what Dumbledore said, he could not yet believe Black to be an innocent man. But it was more than clear that discussion on that subject was closed as well. 

With a sigh of his own, Snape turned onto his side and attempted to drive all thought of Sirius Black from his mind, eventually falling asleep once more.


	18. First Farewells

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: Almost done! There's just one chapter after this, which I'll post immediately.

I made a horrible oversight last chapter--I forgot to thank my newest beta, Taryn. Thanks to both Taryn and Jo, betas extraordinaire, and very enthusiastic ones at that. And no, Taryn, that's obviously not you later on in this chapter. Be patient. :-)

Anyway, on with the fic!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
**Chapter 18: First Farewells**

Snape wasn't sure who had the worse night; Dumbledore or himself. He was the one who had been attacked by three students, had been treated like a lunatic, who had seen all his dreams of justice dashed. Though he had to admit, Dumbledore was the one who had to keep waking him up, and had to deal with the sarcasm that inevitably followed. Snape couldn't feel too sorry for the headmaster, though. As far as he was concerned, Dumbledore how more than earned it, helping Black escape, helping bloody Potter and his bloody friends... 

As such, it was a very grumpy Severus Snape that went down to breakfast the next morning. He would much rather have stayed in bed, but then there was little chance that Dumbledore would leave him alone. Better to suffer through a noisy breakfast (one which would undoubtedly make his head throb even more painfully than it already was) and have the rest of the day to hide in his dungeons than to beg off and have Dumbledore disturbing his peace. 

Fifteen minutes into breakfast, however, Snape was questioning his logic. The students were all in deplorably high spirits with the end of exams and another Hogsmeade visit in the offing. The noise was incredible, each eardrum-bursting wave of sound feeling like someone was taking an iron cauldron to his head. It took all the self control he could muster not to let it show on his face, though doubtless it meant he was looking more stern than ever. Not that that was a bad thing. 

To top it off as possibly the worst morning in his life, one of the Slytherin prefects approached the head table partway through breakfast, looking rather grim himself. It was Julius Maxwell, the oldest of the prefects and rather militant in his enforcement of the rules. Snape was dead certain Maxwell had a future in magical law enforcement; he had the humour for it, or rather, lack thereof. 

"Professor, I found Macaulay and Biddle outside the Slytherin dorms last night. I was going to bring them to you immediately, but you weren't in," Maxwell explained, mouth set in a hard line. Snape was certain that he would have saluted, if such a thing was called for. 

This was certainly the last straw. The very last thing Snape needed at the moment was a pair of his students breaking the rules; and more importantly, breaking a curfew which was implemented for the students' own protection. 

Snape quickly pushed back his chair and marched toward the two offending fourth-years, who were now staring determinedly at their plates. They were obviously too scared to watch their head of house approach, which was exactly what Snape wanted. 

Snape grabbed them both by the collar and hauled them out of their seats, two pairs of frightened eyes now looking at him. Normally he would have dragged them down to his office and berated them there. It made the offenders sweat and the other children speculate about what punishment he might be dishing out. However, today he simply wasn't in the mood to drag it out. Besides, he was in the middle of breakfast, and didn't want it to get cold in his absence. 

"Do you two have _any idea_ how dangerous it was to be roaming around the halls last night? You would have been well served if Sirius Black had caught you, or Professor Lupin for that matter. If he'd bitten you--" Snape stopped. The words had slipped out without him meaning to say them, a product of his pounding head and short temper. He hadn't meant to mention Lupin, but it was what he'd been thinking, and hadn't had the presence of mind to censor what he was thinking before he spoke. 

"P-p-professor Lupin? Bitten?" Biddle stammered, quaking like one of the house-elves' jellied puddings. 

This time, his words were not an accident. Why the hell should he cover for the werewolf now? Why on earth should he listen to Dumbledore, keep his mouth shut yet again? Deep inside, he wanted revenge, and this was the only way he could exact it. He knew very well that the other Slytherins could hear everything he said, that the whispers would sweep through the Great Hall before the end of the meal, and most of all, he didn't give a damn if they did. 

"Yes, _bitten_. Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and you're damned lucky you didn't come across him last night. At best he could have infected you. At worst..." he left the rest hanging, letting their imaginations fill in the blanks. It would be more terrifying than anything he could have said. "You two will be staying home from the Hogsmeade trip this afternoon, and will be cleaning the Potions classroom with toothbrushes--and that's just for starters. I expect to see you two in my office, ready to begin fifteen minutes after breakfast is over. _Do I make myself clear?_" 

The boys nodded their assent, and Snape dumped them in their seats. Turning on his heel, he stalked back up to the head table, not looking at the whispers he knew were flying behind his back. However instead of sitting down once again, he headed directly to the door behind the head table, only just resisting the urge to slam it behind him. He wasn't about to join the professors again; his head was pounding so fiercely that he doubted even his ability to hide it, and he assumed that once Dumbledore knew that he had let slip Lupin's secret, the headmaster would have some choice words for him. He wasn't about to sit there and wait for them. Instead, he walked down to the dungeons to prepare for the little miscreants by casting spells to prevent the use of magic in the classroom. If those two were going to break the rules, he was damned sure he wasn't going to make their punishments easy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eve sweated through her History of Magic exam that afternoon, and not just because of the test questions. It was a scorching hot day, so much so that she hadn't slept very well, and had risen early to study. She'd skipped breakfast and lunch then hurried to her exam, her clothes already damp with perspiration. It didn't help that the room was stifling. Binns, being a ghost, couldn't feel the heat and so didn't seem to realize that the live inhabitant of the room would have much appreciated a few open windows. Eve had poked the window next to her desk open a little, but the room faced the wrong direction to capture the breeze outside and very little air blew in. 

Scribbling madly, Eve didn't look to check the time. She knew she was nearing the end of the allotted two hours and her mind and hands were on auto-pilot, her quill scratching across the parchment in the silence of the room as she scribbled wildly. 

Five minutes later, she punctuated her last sentence with enough force to send a few tiny inkblots spattering on the page, then set down her quill. She had just made it; as she laid down her quill, Binns looked over at her saying in his peculiar drone, "Your two hours are up, Miss Berger. Please bring your parchment here, then you are free to go." 

Eve scooped her ink and quill into her rucksack, hurried up the aisle to Binns' desk and then strode quickly out of the room, resisting the urge to let out a whoop of joy and relief. She nearly skipped back up to Gryffindor Tower, despite the heat. She was finished exams, finally! 

Back at her room she dumped her belongings on her bed, then grabbed a book and towel before hurrying to draw herself a cool bath. The chill of the water felt wonderful against her fevered skin, and she was delighted to finally have time for a long soak with a book that had nothing to do with any of her coursework. Even better was the fact that the tower was peacefully silent. No one would be banging on the door asking when she'd be done, no feet clattering up and down the stairs. Everyone else was either in Hogsmeade or spending the afternoon out-of-doors, the gorgeous weather making it impossible to stay inside. 

She could hardly believe she was already finished. The year had seemed like an age, possibly because she was used to summer holidays starting in April in university. But the past two months had breezed by quickly; too quickly it had seemed, particularly when she had been neck-deep in assignments. And finally here she was, lazing about in a bath with a book and without that annoying little voice in the back of her mind telling her that she should be doing coursework instead. It was absolutely glorious. 

Eve waited until she was good and wrinkled before getting out and towelling off, changing into some more casual, comfortable Muggle clothes. Reading by the lake seemed a good way to spend the afternoon. 

She walked into dinner with a decided spring in her step that evening, feeling better than she had in months. Even if she had a feeling that she'd failed a couple second-year exams, she was feeling a little more positively philosophical at that moment than she had been. What was done, was done and there was no way to change it. The only thing to do was to finally relax now that the stress of exams was over. 

She was in such a good mood and so far off in her own little world that it took a few minutes for her housemates' conversation to penetrate her shell. As such, she ended up tuning in in the middle of the conversation. 

"Not surprised he snuck away while everyone was gone," one of her housemates said around a mouthful of food. 

Something about the student's disdainful tone struck her as very odd, and so she couldn't help but ask, "Who did?" 

A few heads swivelled her way, looking at her in confusion. She was getting used to triggering that response in her fellow Gryffindors. 

"Why, Professor Lupin, of course," another said, in a tone that clearly said they thought she was rather dim-witted. 

"Lupin? But...why?" 

"Well he could hardly _stay_. I don't know about your parents, but mine certainly wouldn't want me to have a werewolf as a teacher." 

Eve was convinced she hadn't heard them right. "A _werewolf_? Lupin?" 

"You mean you didn't know? But the entire school knows--Professor Snape said so to one of the Slytherins this morning." 

Eve thought to herself that Snape was hardly the sort of person she'd completely trust to be telling the truth about such a thing, but didn't voice it. Besides, Dumbledore obviously put a great deal of trust in him, so was her doubt of Snape because of the man or because of her dislike of him? 

The others had gone back to their conversation, and Eve was quiet for the little that remained of dinner, too busy thinking to concentrate on what they were saying. 

Lupin, a werewolf? She had read a little about them, enough to know that they were real, and dangerous. She could hardly believe it; kind, patient Lupin a werewolf! It seemed somehow preposterous, but then... He had been ill so many times and though she couldn't remember exactly when in most cases, he had been ill at Christmas, and there had been a full moon on Christmas Eve. 

How on earth could Dumbledore have hired a werewolf to work in a school? That was so--so _dangerous_! He never should have done such a thing. 

_Then should Davina never have been allowed at Oxbridge?_ a voice in her mind said, and the thought made her pause. She was heading back up to Gryffindor Tower with the rest of the students after dinner when it came to her and she quickened her step, wanting to reach her room where she could think about it. 

Flopping down on the bed, she considered the two situations. Davina had been one of her best mates at university; still was, in fact. Eve had kept up a steady correspondence during her year at Hogwarts, though she hadn't told Dee about where she was and what she was doing, as she hadn't with most of her friends. 

Dee was a Canadian transfer student, and had lived down the hall from her in residence at Strickland College, in one of the few single apartments. Eve had spent a lot of time there, studying with Dee, procrastinating or just getting together with her for no other reason than a good, long chat. They were great friends, though for the first year, Eve had thought Dee was slightly odd. For one thing, when anyone in their classes, or on their floor, or even Eve herself was sick, Dee avoided them as though they had the plague. She'd wash her hands twenty times a day, and kept a kit in her bag with sticking plasters and antiseptic cream, which she'd pull out whenever she had so much as a paper cut. Eve had thought that Dee might be a hypochondriac, at least until an incident in their second year. 

The two girls were having dinner in Dee's apartment, when Dee had accidentally cut herself with a knife while slicing an onion. Eve had started to walk over to help out when suddenly Dee had barked at her to go into the next room and stay there. Eve had been too stunned by the controlled fear and panic in Dee's voice to do anything but obey, and so she had walked into the next room, sitting there in shocked silence until Dee had come in and finally told her why she'd reacted that way. 

Dee explained that she had been injured in a car accident when she was a teenager, and had had to have a blood transfusion. It hadn't been until eight months before she started university that she and her family had found out that the donor blood had been tainted with HIV. Apparently it hadn't been tested for, as the disease was still rather new, and there were still many that thought that it only gay people contracted it. Even many of those who knew better thought that only drug users or those who had unprotected sex could get it. They were wrong, of course, and hundreds, maybe thousands of people had been infected through no fault of their own, possibly infecting others without their knowledge. It was only very recently that the media had grabbed hold of the story, and there was talk of an enquiry.

Dee said she had come to terms with it, though as she'd spoken Eve could hear some of the anger in her voice. Anger that she likely wouldn't live to see her thirtieth birthday, all because of someone else's mistake. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Dee had said then, "I know, I should have, it's just...I just never could find a good time or the courage to say it and part of me held back because I didn't want to be treated like a leper here too. So I just made sure I was extra careful, watched myself everyday and took precautions to make sure no one else would be in danger." 

Eve had replied that she wasn't angry, and it was true. Inside she knew that if Dee had told her earlier, she would likely have never become such good friends with her. She was painfully aware at that moment that she shared the same prejudices that most people did. She hadn't deserved to know, had been better off not knowing, as otherwise she would have missed out on getting to know someone who had become a best friend. 

Lying on her bed, listening to Erik scratch around at the floor underneath, she had to admit that it was the same with Lupin. She of all people she have known better, but instead as soon as she'd found out about Lupin's condition she'd thought the very things she shouldn't have, the things that were motivated by irrational fear and prejudice. Lupin was only dangerous once a month, and hadn't he disappeared during the full moon? He hadn't even come out for Christmas, and she well remembered how awful he'd looked every time he did return. It seemed that Lupin, like Dee, had had to take others safety into his own hands because he couldn't tell anyone that they should protect themselves. What an awful burden that must be; always having to be on your guard, having to watch yourself and worry about what could happen to someone else if you made one small mistake, without being able to tell anyone for fear of being shunned. No wonder he and Dumbledore had kept it quiet. That was, at least until Snape had opened his mouth. For a moment she felt a surge of anger at the man, though she had to admit that perhaps he was only doing as he thought was right. Certainly she knew that not everyone would be pleased with Lupin and Dumbledore hiding his condition, or even understand the reasons for it. 

She only wished she'd heard about Lupin leaving sooner. She would have liked to say goodbye. Lupin had always been kind to her, in fact he had always seemed to understand what it was like for her to be different, and she now knew why. She would have liked to thank him for it. Perhaps she could send a note--owls could find people even without an address, couldn't they? 

With another stab of guilt, she remembered her notes to Dee; always written on ordinary Muggle paper and with a Muggle pen, then posted via her parents so as not to seem suspicious. She had never told Dee the truth about where she was, what she was studying. In fact she'd never even thought of it. She'd grouped Dee in with the rest of her friends, none of whom she'd told about her ability. But Dee had trusted Eve with her secret, shouldn't Eve at least do the same? Dee deserved that trust. 

Eve rolled off her bed and walked over to her desk, pulling out her quill and parchment. Dipping her quill in the ink bottle, she began to write a letter to Dee, to repay that old confidence. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week of holidays breezed by, quickened by the fact that each day was spent blissfully doing nothing of importance. Marks came out on the second last day of term, and Eve was sorry to see that she had failed the second-year exams in Astronomy and Potions, though the results didn't really surprise her. But at least she had a few months in which to study some more and try to catch up; even better, months without Snape breathing down her neck as she did so. 

Professor Dumbledore had called her into his office one last time before the end of term, to talk to her regarding regulations for the summer. 

"As you are the age of majority, you cannot be bound by the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry," Dumbledore began, "and you will have to study over the summer in preparation for the next fall. However, I would like to suggest that you use caution in your studies, particularly when it comes to new charms and potions. I would rather that you perfect those you already know and limit your practice of brand-new ones at this point. It is simply much safer for you to learn them here, where someone is nearby to correct any accidents or dangerous mistakes. I expect you to know your own limitations, but beyond that, it is up to your discretion. I trust the Magical Reversal squads will not have to pay you a visit this summer." He had smiled for that last sentence, softening the order but diminishing none of its meaning. 

Eve had caught his meaning perfectly and fully agreed--she wasn't about to go trying new spells, having seen firsthand what could happen when she was just learning. However, it would be rather nice to be able to use magic at home. There were a few charms she'd learned that would come in rather handy. 

Finally it was the last day and she was heading to Hogsmeade station with the rest of the students. Looking back at Hogwarts, she took in the last sight she would have of the castle for three months. She would miss it in a way. She liked her room and some of her fellow students and her professors. She had found something of a place for herself there, after all. Plus, after ten months of being surrounded by magic, she was going back to living with her parents and while she'd missed them greatly, it would still be rather odd to live in the Muggle world again. She wouldn't be completely cut off though. She could go into London often enough and head into Diagon Alley, check out wizarding books and clothes and things. And she had arranged to get a subscription to the _Daily Prophet_ so she wouldn't feel isolated from the other world she belonged to. She would be working all summer, then return to Hogwarts for another year. Hogwarts felt like home now, so she could look forward to going back, while at the moment she could also look forward to going home to her parents. 

After bustling onto the Hogwarts Express, Eve snagged a window-seat facing backwards in a nearly-empty compartment. She watched until Hogwarts faded from view, then turned to a book, Erik curling up on her lap, and looking forward to her arrival back at home.


	19. Epilogue: An End And A Beginning

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

See Author's Notes at the very bottom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~   
**Epilogue: An End and a Beginning**

_Four Years Later_

Eve woke with the sun as it crept over the mountains that surrounded Hogwarts. Erik lay curled up next to her, purring contentedly as he slept, paws twitching every so often as he dreamed. She could see her trunk by the door to her room; packed, and ready to be brought down to the carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express for the last time. 

This entire year had been one of "lasts": her last Halloween and Christmas at Hogwarts, the last time she would watch the snow fall from outside her windows, the last time she would take exams, the last time she would sit in a classroom. Now this was the very last morning she would spend in her room, her last night in her four-poster bed now finished. A few hours from now she would step on board the Hogwarts Express and head back to London for the last time, as a student at least. 

Dumbledore had told her a couple months before that her term as teacher did not have to be served immediately, particularly considering there were other places which she would be more needed, with war news becoming darker every day. After Hogwarts she was heading into a position in the Muggle Relations department of the Ministry of Magic. She would have her own apartment once again, be able to start her own life again, but this time as a fully-fledged witch. "Besides, it will give you a valuable chance to spread your wings a little, be independent," he'd said. 

The change was a little bittersweet, though. She knew she would miss Hogwarts greatly, would miss her little room, miss meals in the Great Hall and evenings in the common room. After spend most of the last five years there, Hogwarts was home and though she would return, it would be as a teacher. It wouldn't be quite the same, though she had to consider the fact that it probably would be better. She'd fit in more then, her peers would be adults, instead of those nearly ten years her junior. 

Still, that might be years away yet, and in the interim she would miss the castle and some of her teachers greatly; Dumbledore and McGonagall in particular. She would miss the others as well, though perhaps not Snape. While they had built up a mutual trust over the years, it was built more out of necessity than anything near friendship. She had to admit, though, that he had helped her. She had a better-than-average grasp of potions, thanks to his exacting methods, even if she'd had to endure his less-than-attractive personality to gain it. And she had some respect for him, if not for his teaching methods. After her discovery of his past in first year, it was not a surprise to her when Snape disappeared sometimes for a day or two after You-Know-Who's return. She didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to have an idea where he had gone, and why he sometimes looked drawn or weary upon his return. Naturally she had never asked him and he had never let anything slip, but she had that strong suspicion just the same. She had to give him some respect for what he was doing in the war, if her guess was true. It was rather public that some of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's other followers had not returned to him, as they had soon disappeared or been found murdered, the Dark Mark floating above them. But Snape apparently had returned, and she could only assume was still spying for Dumbledore. That deserved some respect at least. 

Thinking of her teachers, she glanced over at the bag beside her door. She should take those to the Owlery soon if she wanted them delivered at breakfast. 

She slipped out of her bed and dressed, hurrying quietly out of Gryffindor Tower and up to the Owlery, luckily not running into either Filch of Mrs. Norris. Not that there was much Filch could do, considering she would be leaving in just a few hours' time, but she'd prefer not to have her last day get off to such a bad start. 

After delivering her packages, she headed out into the grounds, taking one last walk before breakfast. She wanted to be able to relax in the few hours she would have between breakfast and the train's departure. 

She was heading back when she checked her watch, noticing that breakfast would be starting, and picked up her pace. She didn't want to be late and miss seeing her surprises for the teachers, not after all the time they had taken to prepare. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Breakfast was a quiet affair, quite mercifully so for some of the staff after the previous night's overindulgence. Snape had to hide a smile, looking around at his fellow teachers. McGonagall, Hooch and Sinistra were all looking somewhat green about the gills, pushing the food around their plates. And here he was without any hangover remedy made up... 

It was hard for him not to smile. Another school year was over, and he was free to spend his days as he liked, for the most part. Research, reading, all without the distraction of hundreds of brats scurrying about. Even better, it was the last day at Hogwarts for those in Potter's year. Never had he been happier to see three students leave than he was with Potter, Weasley and Granger. No Potter next September! It was almost worth looking forward to. Only the thought of what deeds the Dark Lord could think up could spoil Snape's mood. 

He had just helped himself to more bacon when the rushing of wings made him look up. Usually there was little mail being delivered on the last day, as there was little point in sending something to students. These owls, however, appeared to be heading straight for the teachers' table, each bearing a package. 

Much to his surprise, one of the packages was dropped on his plate, "Prof. S. Snape" written neatly on top of a long, thin box wrapped in brown paper. 

The other teachers were already unwrapping theirs and he paused a moment, waiting to see why they received. All the packages were different sizes but at least he could have some hint. 

Hagrid was the first to get his open, his great booming laugh filling the hall as he read the card that accompanied it aloud. "It's not a real one, but it'll have to do!" he said, pulling what looked like a stuffed toy dragon out of the box. 

One down from Snape, Dumbledore was letting out a pleased "Ah!", as he removed a pair of thick, woollen socks. He glanced down to the Gryffindor table, and Snape followed his gaze. Eve Berger was casting quick glances at the head table, trying to look as though she wasn't watching their every move but failing miserably of course. _That explains it. Gryffindor chivalry._ Snape had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. His chain of thought was broken as McGonagall hit him with one end of her present: a tartan scarf, hand-knitted by the look of it. 

Snape took a look at his package, wondering what the hell Berger could have given him, or why. He'd best get it over with, though. He would have much preferred to open his package in the privacy of his office, but the teachers would have nagged him otherwise, and he didn't feel like cutting breakfast short. He'd best open it while the attention was on the other teachers. 

Slitting open the wrapping, he lifted the lid of the box to find a card placed on top of tissue paper. The message was brief: "Much thanks for everything, from Eve Berger." 

Nestled in the tissue paper was a pair of thin, woollen gloves, the fingers ending at the first knuckle. Black, of course. Obviously designed to provide warmth but leave the fingertips exposed for greater dexterity. A practical gift, which he had to admit seemed fitting. He'd never have admitted it in a thousand years but it was a rather welcome gift as well. Working in the dungeons was a cold task in midwinter, and sometimes he'd felt as though his fingers were going to drop off, they were so numb. 

Snape stuck them back in the box, not checking the fit until he was safely back in his office. They fit perfectly, nicely protecting the spots where his hands were becoming chafed by his somewhat ill-fitting dragonhide gloves. Had she noticed? He didn't credit her with being that observant. And after five years of teaching her, he doubted that he gave her too little credit. 

Tucking the gift into a desk drawer, Snape left his office once more, deciding that it was too nice a day to spend indoors. Besides, he wouldn't miss the pleasure of seeing the students leave for anything in the world. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eve had precious little time left to enjoy Hogwarts, and so spent her last few hours relaxing by the lake, her rucksack beside her. She would make one last trip up to her room to fetch Erik, and that would be it. Goodbye, Hogwarts. 

She was staring meditatively at the mountains across the lake when a shadow fell over her. Looking up, all she could make out was a black pillar. Even with the sun in her eyes she could tell it was Snape; no one else wore so much black clothing on a hot, sunny day, or had that same ramrod-straight posture. 

"Your N.E.W.T.s have already gone into the Ministry for grading," he said coolly. She wasn't surprised at all by the lack of a greeting. She could count the number of times he'd said "hello" to her on one hand. Even when he did use a normal greeting, it was spoken with so much sarcasm that it could hardly be called an act of politeness. 

"I know, that's why I had the packages delivered this morning," she replied. She made an attempt to shade her eyes so she could see his expression, but it was useless. To block the sun from her eyes, she had to block her view of his face with her hand. She'd just have to squint. 

"How did you find the proper size?" 

She could feel herself blush slightly and gave a small, sly smile. "I asked the house elves to let me know when they were washing your dragonhide gloves. The next time they did so, I traced an outline of the gloves and took my measurements from that." She was expecting some comment about her invasion of his privacy or some such thing, but it never came. 

"That was rather...cunning of you," he said wryly. 

Eve decided to go for broke. It was her last day, after all. "Rather Slytherin, in a way." 

There was a slight pause before Snape replied. "Indeed. Good day, Miss Berger," and he swept away, his robes rippling in the breeze. 

If she hadn't known better, she would have thought she'd heard a hint of amusement in his tone. But Snape? Amused? Never. 

Still, she couldn't help but smile at the thought as she gathered her few things for the train home and took what would be her last look at Hogwarts; for now, at least. 

THE END

_A/N: Well, that's it, for this book at least. Yes, I do have a second part in the works, but it will be a while before I start posting it. At the very least I'm waiting until "Order of the Phoenix" comes out before posting, so I can incorporate any useful tidbits it has to offer (which it bloody well better, about Snape at least!)_

_I'd just like to give a most heartfelt thanks to my beta readers, Taryn and Joan, as well as to all those who have reviewed my fic--both positive __and__ negative reviews. I haven't been able to reply to your comments individually, as I've had little time to spend on the internet over the past year, but I have always greatly looked forward to each review, and read everyone's comments with much interest. Hopefully I'll have some time to respond to those reviews already posted, now that I'm finished the course that ate up so much of my time (and my short-term memory, and my sanity...). Again, thank you. You have made this such a rewarding experience, particularly as this is definitely the longest story (and the most involved) I've ever written, and one of the few that I actually manage to finish! _

_Thank you everyone, and see you in a couple months!_


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